To Know You
by Darknightdestiny
Summary: [Sequel to Vincent's Last Birthday Escapade] After searching for Vincent, Tifa decides not to miss another chance of getting to know the man who has an inexplicable hold on her curiosity and her heart.
1. Recollection of Rejection

**To Know You  
Chapter One: Recollection of Rejection  
By Darknightdestiny**

Hasty, yet firmly planted footsteps echoed throughout the hallway as they quickly made their way to the open doorway. Stronger steps followed after, a lower and less shrill clicking noise joining in as the second followed the first. The clicking was silenced and turned into a low thumping and brushing as two figures exited the ShinRa Mansion and stepped out into the grass yard.

"Lu!"

The sun beat down on the two as they ran out towards the square, stalled momentarily by a cloud passing overhead. The click-clack sound of dress shoes picked up again when the female reached the brick walkway, and was followed by the lower clomping of leather uniform shoes as the male figure chased after her.

"Lucrecia, wait!" He caught up to her and reached out for her arms, grasping her and swiftly turning her around. "Please..." his voice was strained and desperate. "Listen to me."

"Vincent, I can't do this with you," she sighed in sadness and frustraton as she shook her head. Her eyes were weary and misted over, and her overall apearance was as that of a nervous wreck. Her eyes raised to meet his, and then her head fell. She shuddered and would not look at him, would not meet his gaze, face his lost and helpless expression.

He ran his hand along her back in a small effort to calm her. "...Why not?"

She shook some more. "Vincent, you can't keep on doing this, telling me how much you care. It seems so wrong..."

He pulled back and faced her, holding her out in front of him so that he could get a good look at her face. This didn't matter, because she still hid it from him, her eyes cast down near her feet by the beige colored bricks, lined with dark grey sand and olive tinted moss. "Lu, how can you say that?" She shook her head some more, and he lifted her chin up with his right hand so that his eyes burned into her own, so sincere and real that it killed her to hurt him like this, killed her to break that trust. "You truly believe that it is wrong of me to care for you?"

"Vincent...we're living a lie." His brow knitted together and his eyes squinted up in confusion, not quite understanding what she meant by that. Another cloud blew over the town, blocking out the sun, and the warm breeze that washed over them became a cooler gust of wind. Lucrecia's long bangs whipped about her face, and Vincent pulled them back with an outstretched hand, tucking them behind her delicate ears.

"...I am not sure I understand what you mean," he murmured, half to her and half to himself.

"The way you treat me," Lucrecia continued, "with such tender care and dignity...is something I appreciate and cherish, Vincent." One corner of his mouth crept upwards and he continued to stroke the line of hair trailing from her forehead to the back of her earlobe. "But..." -and his eyes darted to her face, though not violently- "sometimes I wonder what I did to merit such favor."

Vincent stroked her temple with his thumb. "It is because I care for you," he said softly.

"Yes, Vincent. I know. You care for me, and for all my well-being, but..." Lucrecia shook her head, not wanting to continue, but knowing that she had to. "Vincent, how can you afford to give such care to me when you murder people without even thinking twice?" Her eyes grew hot and welled with salted tears which began to drip down her face like crystal clear acid. Vincent began to open his mouth, ready to tell her the same thing he always said, the only excuse he had for the things he did to make a living. Lucrecia put one finger to his mouth, knowing that he only did his job, and he was the best at it as well. "Vincent...you're such a hypocrite. And I love you. But I just...I can't do this anymore."

Vincent searched her face for a moment, then began to ask her the question that was the beginning of the end. "...Is it because I kill others that you are upset, or is it because after all of that, I still will not justify the project?"

Lucrecia stared back at him with wide eyes, her throat not cooperating with her voice. It was as if someone had come along and tied a neat little knot where the sound was supposed to be coming from, and after that, she could not give an answer that would satisfy him. Lucrecia backed away, but he continued to hold her hands in his. She finally managed to softly intone in a voice, a whisper so rich with childlike innocence that it was positively horrific, "Vincent, you were supposed to be a part of that project as well."

Vincent hung his head and then looked back up at her through a wild spray of shiny hair the color of gunmetal. "Lu...you know that I already said-"

"That you won't be a part of an unethical project. I know. But, Vincent, you are part of unethical projects every single day!"

"Still, Lucrecia...I cannot-"

"Vincent, I know already. But you know that this is part of my dream. This is part of something bigger than all of us, and I want to help make it possible."

Vincent stroked her hands with his fingers. "Lu, I had always thought...that when the time came for me to have a child with the woman I loved...that it would be ours, and only ours."

"I know, Vincent. I know. And I can't take that away from you. I understand that for some reason, you look at it differently since it would be your child. But it's really not that dangerous. And I know you worry about me. And that is why...we can't stay together." She swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes on fire and itching like mad, and it hurt when the air passed through her windpipe.

"Lucrecia, you do not mean to go through with this project..."

Lucrecia sighed aloud and let her hands fall away from his. "Yes...yes, Vincent, I do. If not you, then someone else, but...I can't have you holding me back." She watched through his eyes, witnessed his heart break at her words, but she forced herself to keep going. "Vincent, this is my dream as a scientist, and I've been so excited over this for so long. And...I'm not letting go of this...even for you."

Vincent's heart dropped and hung suspended by one threadlike vein, dangling over a pit of stomach acid threatening to tear his insides apart. Lucrecia was really going to leave him after all that they had been through, and she was willing to do anything for that project...the one that was now tearing them apart and had caused a rift in their relationship over the past few months. And then to hear that she thought he was holding her back from something better, and that she was willing to go and be with- with- whoever it took, just to make sure that they had a child for the project...

It was ripping him apart, all of the mixed emotions running through his brain and he standing there before her, trying to keep them all under control and not lose his grip on the situation at hand. Lucrecia stood there before him, now unable once again to look him in the face. "Vincent..." she started, her voice shaking with uncertainty, "I...I'm so sorry."

With that, she took off running across the square, Vincent standing there with an outstretched hand, clad in a leather glove. He had attempted to catch her by the arm and try once more to convince her that it was a bad idea, that she should stay with him where she would be safe from harm. He had failed to hold her in his broken-spirited grip, however, and she had disappeared behind the well in no time. Vincent ran after her, hoping to catch her, to convince her to let it go, to just rest with him and be content to just exist for a while. What he happened upon was something he had not expected.

There she stood, in the arms of the director of the ShinRa Department of Science, her white coat trailing from her thin form and ending at her calf muscles, intertwining with his own white coat. They looked to be a pair, two of the same kind, her thin sheer stockings standing out against his black pants, and that was alright. If she was happy with her decision, if there was no way to change her mind, then he would be happy for her, though what he really wanted was to make sure that she was out of harm's way. The only way that he could do that would be to keep a careful eye on the project, which was what he was there to do in the first place.

Standing there, watching them, he noticed that she was greatly relieved by the comfort the doctor's arms had to offer her, and while Vincent wanted to be happy for Lucrecia, this bothered him greatly. His mind began to wander and the thought briefly entered his head that maybe she already knew who would want to father the child for the project, and whether or not that man might be him, but he shook the thought immediately from his head. For now she looked content, and that was all he cared to venture into for the time being. He would stay nearby, though, and make sure that she was safe.

If any possible danger came to her, he was prepared to do whatever it took to keep her out of harm's way.

Vincent's shoulders slumped over and he strode half-heartedly away from the scene, feeling more alone and rejected than he ever had in his entire life. It was really over, and he had nothing to show for it. He had not even asked her any questions, though he knew that she had told him she loved him. Still...he had a feeling that the two of them were not through yet, and that something bigger was going to happen between the two of them before they left Nibelheim.

As Vincent left the square, stepping over the uneven brick layers and crushing the small weed-flowers that grew between the individual bricks, unawares as he went, the clouds left the sky and the sun began to beat down fiercely on his dark head of hair. Vincent loosened his tie and huffed a small breath of air at his own forehead, his long bangs lifting in time with his pace and bobbing once before finally setting back down into place. He pulled at his shirt collar with one finger, quickly becoming overheated. Whether he was just flustered, or beginning to feel sick, he knew that it must have had something to do with his mood, because his emotions were all askew, and they always had been, ever since the day he became a killing machine.

And he hadn't been able to figure himself out since then.

And the sun continued to shine.

Vincent Valentine pulled his coat up around his neck and raised his shoulders up as he walked away from the restaurant sandwiched between the shopping plaza and the theatre in the busy city of Junon. If he had tried harder, he might have been able to ignore the bright lettering that decorated the sign of the expensive banquet hall, but being Vincent, he was quite observant by nature.

Vincent mused on the party name and the date, surprised to have come upon that specific gathering in that specific city, but his life happened to be full of all sorts of ironies, coincidences and poetic justices, so he figured it didn't really matter. It became clear to him that either he had caused a few people a great deal of pain in trying to find him and they just gave up after a while, or else no one had bothered to look for him in the first place.

Whichever it was, he kept on walking. Life was full of tough decisions.

A/N: Well, there you have it, the first chapter of _To Know You_. Anything you didn't pick up on will most likely be made clear in chapter two. At least...I plan on making it clear, so if you don't pick up on it then, you're hopeless. Aha...just kidding. It will all be made clear very, very soon. Maybe in two days. I already know what I want to do with the next chapter, so it shouldn't be too long.

If you're reading this and you haven't read the prequel, _Vincent's Last Birthday Escapade_, go read it now! [grins] You'll like it, and it's only 4 chapters long, so it won't take long. It sets the entire background and mood for this story, plus motivations for certain character's actions. So...if you choose to ignore the Escapade, and rush right into this, then things might seem to move at an unexpected pace, and you'll be left wondering why.

I hope you all will enjoy this story, as I know I'm going to enjoy writing it. I've got a million ideas running through my head, and I have to piece them together and write them down before I forget! [gets spastic and grabs a notepad while screaming] Thank you for reading, and please...let me know what you thought!


	2. Junon Reunion

**To Know You  
Chapter Two: Junon Reunion  
By Darknightdestiny**

"He's not coming."

"I knew it."

"Well that doesn't seem fair."

Several pairs of eyes were fixed on the small card embossed with his name as it sat before an empty chair.

"What, is he too good for us all of a sudden?"

"...All of a sudden?"

"I don't think he likes us."

"I couldn't-!" Tifa's voice shouted over the others in frustration before she realized that everyone had quieted and turned their attention to her. "...I couldn't find him," she finished softly. "I tried."

An awkward silence hung over the candle lit table, a tightness still hiding in her chest. The dim light showed signs of the faces before her turning sympathetic, even though the night was supposed to be filled with happiness. The others had all left their respective homes and the duties they had just to be together for a short while. Cid had left Rocket Town, Barret had left Corel...Nanaki had travelled from Cosmo Canyon and Yuffie had gone over all the way from Wutai. Even Reeve was there, and Cloud had left his small home near the memorial in Midgar, where Aeris' church used to be.

Tifa had spent almost half a year searching for Vincent; ever since she'd revisited the memory of that talk they had the year before, she'd wanted to find him. When she'd gone through that box and found the tape he'd given her, she'd had so many thoughts, gotten so many questions. She felt so badly that she might never get the chance to find out or have another talk with him like that again. When he'd let her in that one time, sat down with her and shared a small bit about himself with her, she'd felt so honored. She knew he wasn't the kind of person who would do that for just anybody, and the idea that she'd never get to do it again made her sad. She'd wanted to really get to know him, so she could appreciate him for who he was, as a friend, and not just as an ally.

She had tried, and she had told the others that she was going to do so. They all wished her luck, but some of them told her that there was no way she was ever going to succeed. 'Why?' she had asked. 'Because...' they had told her, 'He doesn't want to be found.'

Tifa had known that they were probably right, and that he most likely had left in the first place because he had wanted to leave everything behind. Still, even if that were true, she had a feeling that he would be lonely and that no one, not even Vincent, truly wanted to be alone. And so she tried anyways, looking up numbers, contacting families with his last name, searching libraries for public records.

And she was unsuccessful. Apparently, he had wanted to disappear.

And having the past that he did, the only thing he had to hide was the year that he'd spent awake after his first disappearance. Naturally, there wasn't much of a record to start with. Now her friends looked back at her with sad faces, the same rueful grimaces that were always reserved for her, the one who had to have the bad things softened because everyone thought she carried too much already.

The shadowed figures at the table were silent as a violin played in the background, something, Tifa thought bitterly, that was all too perfect for the occassion. Guests were on the dance floor just beyond their setting, and the lights from above were a giant spotlight that shone upon the floor. Watching the dancers thread in and out of their patterns, she felt so detached from the wonderful time she was supposed to be having. Sitting far away in the dark, she felt so alone, even though she was surrounded by her friends.

She didn't want to accept that she was never going to see him again. There was so much left unsaid...it reminded her of the feeling one gets when they never get to say goodbye to a loved one when they die, all because they didn't bother to stay close to them in life. He'd just disappeared, and she'd never gotten to tell him that she cared about what happened to him after that. She'd told all of her friends in AVALANCHE that she wanted to see them again, that she'd grown attached to them, and that they had to keep in touch with her. But not Vincent. He had disappeared and not given her the chance to hang on to him like she did to everybody else.

It didn't seem fair. And to Tifa, Vincent had seemed like the person who had needed it most, even though he had also seemed like the person who would be least likely to accept it openly. But Tifa had a secret. With each one of her friends, she had a goal that she wanted to achieve in their lives. They weren't all goals that she had control over, but she still had them.

She wanted to see Cid be genuinely kind to Shera once. Admitting that he was wrong over one isolated incident wasn't enough for her; she wanted to see him do something special for her sometime, because he cared. While she couldn't make him do that, it was something she wished for on those nights she stared at the sky.

She wanted to see all of the children her friends were going to have, if indeed they were going to have any. She wanted to see Marlene grow up and become something great. She wanted to see Nanaki's children, if it were possible for him to find another of his kind to mate with, meet their grandfather and hear his story. She wanted to see Yuffie lead Wutai into greatness, and she wanted to see Barret enjoy his daughter's life, and no doubt beat up the first guy who would ask her on a date. She wanted to see Reeve help to stabilize Neo-Midgar, and feel like he was helping all the people he had put so much of his life towards doing just that. She wanted to see Cloud truly happy and living a peaceful life without any bad memories, and only happiness when he visited the church.

As for Vincent, all she wanted from him was just one hug. It would take a long time, but she was willing to wait. He was so good at dodging human contact that at once it seemed like it would never happen. But she had gotten to know his expressions, and she knew some of the things that set him off in different directions. She had gotten to talk with him a couple more times since that one incident, but they were mostly about the upcoming battle and the things that were going on at the moment. She hadn't asked him any more personal questions, even though they had been alone during their talks. She had been afraid of driving him away.

"Aw, Tif!" Cid's voice cut into her thoughts. "Watcha need to do is quit mopin' around. So Vince ain't here...I kinda wish he was, but he probably didn't want to be found. Let's just...be happy for him and enjoy the night, okay?"

Tifa blinked at him for a moment, then sighed. "Cid...you're right. I guess I'll try not to bring you all down."

"Now we're talkin'!" Yuffie piped up. "Hey...you wanna split this with me?" she motioned to the dessert in front of her. "I'll never finish it on my own."

Tifa shook her head. "I'm not really that hungry."

"Aww...well, do you wanna go dancing? I bet we could grab a couple of cute guys, and-"

"No...I'm not really in the mood for that right now." Tifa looked down at the table. She'd said she wouldn't bring the rest of them down, but she just didn't feel like making the most of the night. All her life she had tried to look on the bright side of things and cheer everyone else up, but she had put so much of herself into this that she didn't feel like trying any more that night. She just needed to be alone to think about things. She looked up from the lace cloth that was draped over the table and gave a sad smile to the ninja girl. "You guys have fun without me. I'm going to go outside for a while."

Cid watched as Tifa walked away, through the french doors that lined the patio and out onto the balcony, and he rubbed his forehead when they clicked shut. "Well if that ain't the shittiest feelin' in the whole world."

"Yeah? What're we goin' ta do 'bout it?" Barret's deep voice resonated throughout the wooden table.

Cloud spoke up. "Tifa...has always been a giving person. When she can't seem to fix something that she feels is broken- or someone that she thinks need caring- then it makes her sad." The rest of them watched him with understanding. "I know that she's not out there thinking about herself right now and how upset it's making her. She's out there thinking about him right now, worrying about him and assuming the worst."

"Well," Nanaki spoke from his spot on the floor beside Cloud's feet, "if she continues down this path, she may make herself ill."

Cloud sighed. "I know. But it's how she's always been. Once she starts working on someone, it's never finished until she sees that she's made some difference in their life."

"But she probably won't ever see Vinny again," Yuffie reminded him.

"...That's why we're so worried."

"Well I don' know about all of you," came the gruff voice of the pilot, "but it's time I had my cigarette." He smirked at the others and followed Tifa out to the balcony where he lit one up and leaned against the railing, exhaling short clouds of grey mist.

Tifa stood with her arms bent, leaning out onto the railing. Her head was held high, and she was looking at the stars. Cid moved over to where she was and leaned casually onto the railing next to her.

"So," he started.

Tifa looked over at him. "Hm?"

"What happened to th' girl I used t' know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Cid." Tifa looked back up to the sky.

"This thing's got you really depressed, eh?"

Tifa sighed again, and her shoulders slumped downwards. She hardly felt elegant in the long white evening dress she was clad in. She looked weary and hadn't had much of an appetite in a while. "Cid, I don't know what to do."

Cid took a long drag from his cigarette before smothering it on the railing and flicking it off the side of the building, into the garden.

"Cid!"

"Nothin'."

Tifa stared at him. "...What?"

"You don' do nothin'." He caught Tifa's blank expression. "Oh, Tif', I know yer' feelin' bad 'bout this whole thing, but you can't keep mopin' around like this. You can't control it. If Vince wants t' be left alone, then he wants t' be left alone." He lit up another cigarette and took another drag.

"...I can't help but wonder if maybe he doesn't, and I just didn't try hard enough."

"Tif', I hate t' break this to you..." He held the smoke in for a while and closed his eyes before letting it escape through his partly open mouth. "But if he wanted t' be found, he coulda gone t' one of the other places we'd be sure to be 'round."

"...Huh?" Tifa shot Cid a perplexed look, accented by the purple and yellow lights just below them on the front of the building, which covered in black lettering that announced to the world that the AVALANCHE reunion was being held there.

"Y'know. Rocket Town, Cosmo Canyon. Ever'one knew Barret was goin' back to Corel, 'cause that's what he kept sayin'. Said he was gonna fix it up, t' make up for whatever happen'd there in th' past." He took another long drag from the cigarette. "If Vince was lookin' fer company, he woulda known t' go there, iffin' he wanted t' find us."

Tifa looked down into the garden below, a lush carpet of green grass surrounding a fountain. The garden walls were bushes lined with all sorts of colorful flowers. In the corners were trees that stretched almost up to the top story where she was standing, and the were hung with plumeria blooms and orchids.

Outside the garden walls, the city was relentlessly loud, and peace of mind was lost. The streets were filled with traffic, and neon lights shone from every skyscraper. Voices shouted across the street where the vendors were selling their goods in the open court of the shopping plaza. Children skated over the walkways and families crossed the streets together, hand in hand, to the theatre. The Neo-Midgar Symphony was in town, and it was going to be quite a spectacular performance, or so it was said.

Tifa took a minute to take in the atmosphere, the sights and sounds mingling with the smell of nicotine on Cid's breath, carried over to her on a gentle breeze. It was amazing how much the city of Junon had grown since the last time they were all there together, and she was disappointed that Vincent wasn't there to enjoy it.

Tifa gave a small, sad shrug of defeat. "I guess you're right. He didn't want to be found..."

"I'm sorry, kiddo." He put an arm around her shoulders, and she hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder to stop the wetness that had started in the corners of her eyes. He felt her shoulders begin to shake, and he reached up and took his cigarette in hand, and put it out on the railing. "Aw...don' cry, Tif'. You did all you could."

"I'm not sure," she sobbed into his shoulder. He held her tight and rocked her back and forth.

"But you did. And it's done. You don't need t' worry about anythin' anymore. I know he wouldn' ever say it, but you know what he'd want ya t' do right now?" Tifa looked up at him with wet cheeks and shook her head. "He'd want ya t' go in there an' have the time of yer life."

Tifa looked over at the staircase leading from the balcony into the garden. It was long, stretching several stories, and it was carved with intricate designs of leaves, blossoms, and birds. She looked back up at Cid and nodded. "Thanks, Cid. You've always been such a good friend to me."

"Nah, don' mention it. Wanna go inside?"

"...In a minute. I think I just need to cool down for a bit."

"Y' want me t' stay?"

Tifa smiled and shook her head. "I'll be fine."

"Alright, then. You jes' remember what I said."

"I will."

Cid pulled her into a tight hug and then disappeared through the doors to the dining room, where he met up with the others. Tifa let a shaky breath escape her chest, and she tried to calm herself. She reached up and wiped her eyes dry with the back of her hand and leaned backwards against the railing, her back to the city and her head tilted in the direction of the staircase.

After a few minutes, she decided that a walk in the garden would be the best thing for her, and so she made her way over to the stairs and began her slow decent into the green.


	3. Dinner and Dancing

**To Know You  
Chapter Three: Dinner and Dancing  
By Darknightdestiny**

The cool breeze that washed over the tall building faded with each step, as the balcony became Tifa's shade. She did notice, however, that each breeze that did slip through was a bit cooler. She drew her arms tightly around herself, her spaghetti-thin straps doing nothing in the way of warming her. When she stepped off of the last stone piece of the walkway and out into the garden, she was amazed by how quickly the heel of her shoe began to sink into the soil.

Frustrated with the pleasantly soft ground and not wanting to sprain an ankle, Tifa reached down and undid the straps of her shoes. She then gathered them up in one hand and walked out into the middle of the garden, towards the fountain. The lush grass tickled her feet and found a way to fill all the space between her toes as she walked through it. As she reached the fountain, she could feel the cool water splashing down into the pool below, and some sprinkles flew out and landed on her feet.

Tifa searched the fountain wall for a dry spot, and when she found one, she sat down and stared up at the sky. The night air was chilly, and the lights drowned out most any view that she had of the stars, silencing the pulsating light that used to speak to her when she was young. Looking up at the vast expanse of twilight blue and purple mixed with the coming black, Tifa found one bright and shining star way up there, beyond the red and yellow clouds, amidst the bright city lights that reflected off of the cold and watery mists that hung in the sky.

Tifa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she made a wish on that star. She wished with all of her heart that everyone could be back together like they were when they fought side by side. She knew that there was no chance of reviving Aeris, but she thought that someday, somehow, she and Vincent would have to cross paths. Something seemed to tell her that it was impossible that he was gone forever. It just didn't seem right that he didn't fit in with the rest of their lives anymore.

Perhaps, deep down in her heart, her wish was for much more than she even told herself in thought.

Tifa reached up and wiped the corner of her eye when she realized that she was beginning to shed tears again. It wasn't going to be the same without him. She should have known that he wasn't going to give her a look into his past and say the words he said, and then still return to have her ask him more questions about it.

_You may finish it...once this is all over. After I leave._

That was what he had said. She hadn't thought that it would be indefinitely. But when she thought back on Vincent's personality, and the type of person he was, and when she remembered the reactions he would have to the things that others had said, she figured that she should have known. Vincent always said much more than his words gave away. Even when he was completely silent, he was still speaking through his expressions and through his actions.

Tifa sighed aloud, and calmed herself again, the tears letting up. Her eyes remained wet, and the edges of her vision remained blurry. She looked down at the water, watching the tiny bubbling waves that spread from the center, where the water splashed down on the otherwise undisturbed surface. The overall effect was a calming one, but Tifa's thoughts couldn't be pushed away, no matter how hard she tried.

No matter how hard she tried, it was never good enough.

Tifa reached down and gathered her hair together, twisting and twirling it around, and then she laid it over her shoulder. She dipped her hand in the cool water and splashed some up onto her face. Her eyes fell onto the fountain wall and she zoned out for a short while, her thoughts running in those dangerous circles, and then she turned to the sky again, letting the night breeze dry her face.

When her eyes had stopped their tearing, and only the wetness of her lashes remained, Tifa rose from her seat at the fountain and began to walk towards the ornate stairway. Her shoulders rose and fell as she tried to regulate her breathing, and the night air and the soft grass did help in calming her. She was so calm, in fact, that she didn't notice the looming figure in front of her until it was too late.

Tifa stumbled backwards and placed a hand on her forehead after a rather abrupt and harsh contact with the figure. "Ouch..." She hugged herself and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly feeling very out of place. "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"It is fine," the dark figure replied. It was quite tall and lean, and obviously male, from the voice. It was a familiar voice to Tifa, though for some reason, she could not place it. Most likely, this was because she would have tried to place anyone but the person the voice actually belonged to in his place, merely because she would have thought that would be asking for too much.

Tifa took a cautious step forward and squinted at the figure through the darkness, trying to catch him in some of the light that shone over the top of the balcony. Yet that light shone straight out into the night, and did not spill down over the ledge and onto the ground well at all. Tifa decided that her safest option was idle chit-chat, as opposed to a hasty exit, which would deny her of the chance to find out who this person was. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, feeling incredibly foolish afterwards, seeing as the garden was only there for the enjoyment of others, since, judging from the arrangements, it was obviously man-made.

"...Do I not belong here?"

"What I meant was, why aren't you inside where it's warm, dancing or eating or talking?"

"I could ask the same of you." There was a pause. Then, "...I never was one for crowds."

Tifa nodded. "I can usually take it. But not tonight." There was silence from the other. She wasn't sure, but he hadn't left or turned away, and so she took her chance to continue on. "Have you ever had people surrounding you and felt that you were completely alone? People who expect you to carry some kind of image all the time, and you can never break free from it?"

There was a swift exhaling of air, a sort of a laugh, but a quiet and almost bitter one. "...Yes, I know that feeling."

Tifa stood there in silence for a while, hiding her feet underneath the long white hem of her dress, holding her shoes behind her back. She looked back up at the stars, reminded of why she was so disheartened in the first place. She was about to go back inside and leave the stranger to his own contemplation when a small ray of moonlight shone through the clouds in the sky and her eyes caught a glint of something bright on the man's wrist. A watch, perhaps? No.

"...Vincent?!"

"...And here I had thought you had forgotten me." It was his same voice, constant and soft like the night clouds themselves. Simply existing.

"Vincent, is it really you? But when did you- How did you-" She came to a sudden stop when she realized she couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, she opted to run up to him and give him the most sincere hug she could muster. This was something she had never attempted before, and at first, she got no response.

Eventually, though, hesitant arms found their way around her and just grazed her back.

_Well...half way there, I suppose._

After all, knowing Vincent, he might have just complied out of a sense of duty, not wanting to be rude to someone who valued him enough to give such a personal gesture in his direction. Vincent's golden arm was cold on Tifa's skin as she stood in her backless gown, but though Vincent normally would have found another way, he dared not move lower for the sake of touching material rather than skin. He would live through it, just this once.

It was at this moment that Tifa realized exactly how much she had missed her friend. It wasn't during the crying, or during the wishing when it had been most obvious to her. No, it was in the moment that she realized that she had taken a frighteningly forward step in the direction of someone who was frighteningly reserved. And she hadn't even thought about it.

She never would have done that in the past, even during the few talks they had had together. And they had been apart for a year, and so they really did not know each other much at all. Tifa quickly backed away from him. "...I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just...well, I missed you."

An awkward silence hung in the air. Looking straight at Vincent, Tifa saw that she could recognize a soft red glow coming from his eyes. She wondered why she hadn't noticed it earlier, when she was trying to figure out who he was. "Why didn't you call?"

There was more silence from his end. Being alone in the dark and away from the crowds and from the others, Tifa felt that it was quite the personal setting, and that she was justified in the path her words were choosing. It seemed to be the right place to have that conversation, as she knew it would come up sooner or later. "Why didn't you come and visit any of us?"

"..."

"Vincent...do you know how long I spent looking for you?"

He turned to look at her, and though it was dark, he was able to see her features clearly with his enhanced sight. Her face was sad and plagued with worry, and there was a hint of frustration underneath. "...I never meant to cause you any trouble," he murmured.

"Is that what you think it was? Trouble? Vincent, I thought I was never going to see you again. Do you have any idea how sad that made me feel?"

"..."

"How did you end up here?" Upon hearing this, Vincent was prepared with an answer. He had not been prepared to answer her previous question, since it boggled his mind why anyone would be sad over his disappearance in the first place. Of course he had no idea how sad that would make her feel.

"I often come here at night to think," he answered, turning his head slightly and looking out at the trees that lined the far side of the garden.

Tifa blinked. "You live near here?"

Vincent gave a barely detectible nod. "I do."

"That...is something."

"Mmm?" Vincent turned back to face her again, and he tilted his head in question.

"All this time I've been looking for you, and here you were all along. You know that I live in Junon as well."

"I would have thought you would go back to Nibelheim, or to Midgar."

Tifa shook her head. "Too many bad memories. I live near the Junon Pier. You know that cluster of shops and restaurants just east of there? Where all the fishermen go to sell their catches, and those kids have been selling their jewelry?"

Vincent managed a small smirk, but it was lost in the shadows. He nodded.

"That's where the new Seventh Heaven is."

Vincent sighed. "...I know."

"You know?" Tifa sounded a bit curious, and a bit upset.

There was some hesitation, but he continued on. "I had done some travelling. I have only been in Junon for approximately three months. I did not think you would want to see me after nine months had passed. Especially since I did not tell you I was leaving. I was surprised to see you had come to Junon."

"Pffft. 'Approximately,'" she repeated, mocking his formal choice of words. "Vincent, of course I wanted to see you!" She grasped him by the collar of his long, black trenchcoat and made sure he was looking down into her eyes. "Don't you think that I would understand? I want to get away from everything too, sometimes."

Vincent was surprised at the fact that she wasn't mad at him, only frustrated with his actions. He was even more surprised that she'd understood why he had done what he did. She might become mad at him later though, he thought, once she got over the initial shock of seeing him again.

"So, was it a coincidence that you decided to come here tonight?" she asked, thinking she knew that it wasn't. She was right.

"...It is hard to ignore the words that outfit a bright purple and yellow sign hanging above the place you tend to visit."

Tifa laughed. "Come on," she said, and pulled him towards the stairway. "Come inside and sit with the rest of us." Vincent stiffened and stopped dead still in his tracks. Tifa's grip loosened, and she sighed in frustration. "Vincent...some of them think you don't like them."

"...If by 'some of them' you mean Yuffie-"

Tifa playfully punched at his shoulder. "Vincent! I know you're just joking."

"...Perhaps."

"Ten gil says you're wearing dress clothes under that coat of yours."

"...And you will be willing to give me ten gil if you are wrong?" he replied, a devilishly smooth tone to his voice, as if he were striking a business deal.

"You are, aren't you?" Tifa placed her hands on her hips, her shoestraps still caught up in the fingers of the right.

"...I would imagine they would not take my sudden appearance as lightly as yourself."

"Vincent, you're a great friend, and I care about you a lot, but sometimes you make me want to smack you."

Vincent blinked at her. "Do I really?"

Tifa laughed and tugged on the sleeve of his coat again. "Please? I know you've just spent a lot of time out there trying to decide whether or not to come inside and find us, so why don't you just save yourself the trouble and come with me?"

"...I have not spent a great deal of time in deliberation. Not just yet. In fact, I had just started when you so viciously attacked me, and so I am not quite ready to make an educated decision."

"Vincent?" Tifa addressed him in the most innocent of voices.

"...Yes?"

"Cut the crap," she intoned flatly.

"Where's Tifa?" Yuffie asked Cid. "She should have been back a long time ago!" Yuffie played with her straw, continually dipping it in her iced tea, her finger plugging up the end of it, and then raising it and releasing her finger, so that a small stream flowed through the end. Once she had done that, she repeated the action, again and again. "I'm bored, old man."

"You shut yer yapper. I ain't gonna tell y' ag'in. Tif's out there tryin' t' fig're things out. Takes diff'rnt amounts o' time fer diff'rnt people, an' I sure as hell ain't gonna go out there an' bug 'er jes' fer you!"

"...Tifa's tough, but she's a sensitive person," Cloud said, running his hand through his hair. "She will probably come in shortly, but I don't think she'll get over it tonight."

"Well she better!" Yuffie popped up from her seat. "Because I just got two really cute guys to say they'd dance with us! And if she doesn't do it, I'm going to look like a jackass!"

"Ain't sayin' y' need any help there."

"Watch it, gramps!" Yuffie pointed an angry finger in Cid's face. "I don't need your insults tonight!"

"Well, I ain't havin' none o' yer whinin', either!"

"Yo, Cid," Barret interrupted, "you's been keepin' tabs on dat whiskey bottle?"

Before Cid had time to check his pockets, Tifa hustled back over to the table. "I'm back. I'm sorry I was gone for so long. I'm not sure what came over me, but I think I'll be just fine."

"Hey, kiddo! We were jes' wonderin' when you'd git back."

Tifa knelt down and began to scratch Nanaki behind the ears. "I'm sorry. I just haven't been myself lately."

"Hey, Tifa!" Yuffie called from the other end of the table, a mischeivous glint in her eyes. "Guess what I got?"

"Dare I ask?" Tifa replied, a bit of Vincent's formal vernacular slipping into her own speech patterns.

Yuffie just laughed it off. "I got us a couple of dancing partners. They're cute! I'm gonna make sure you have fun tonight!"

"Ahh...hold that thought, alright? I just remembered...there's something I need to take care of. I'll be right back." Tifa sped away, while the others just looked at each other, a bit bewildered.

Two minutes later, on the other side of the dance floor, hidden by all who were participating, Tifa stood at the open bar, next to the darkened shadow of Vincent Valentine. Vincent sat on a barstool, while Tifa stood casually next to him, leaned against the counter.

"Vincent, please come and see the rest of them." As soon as they had gotten through the door, he'd refused to go any further.

"...I do not think that would go over well."

Tifa inched closer to him. "Please, Vincent." She put a hand on his shoulder, but it might as well have not existed. "They would really like to see you again."

"I somehow doubt that."

"Vincent, I don't know what else to say. Why did you get all dressed up to come out here if you didn't plan on seeing any of us?"

Once again, Tifa was rewarded with silence.

A/N: Well! It is really hard to code a chapter with a six-month old kitten sitting in your lap, and resting its head and entire upper body on your left forearm! Silly Faye-Faye.

Hee. Faye-Faye Valentine. Shhh. The roommate would kill me if he heard me associate the cat's name with Valentine, but little does he know that the character she's named after is named Faye Valentine. But his girlfriend named her in the first place. So...shhh.

[grins]

Anyways, thanks for reading chapter three! I had to try to switch it up a bit, because...you guys kept reading my mind. You naughty ESPers. Aha. Espers. Terra. Final Fantasy.

Here we go again. [runs off to play with console]

And here I am, 7:11 AM and no sleep. Work at 4 PM. Ah...such is the life of an addicted fan writer/artist/thingie-ma-bob.


	4. Tequila and Tango

**To Know You  
Chapter Four: Tequila and Tango  
By Darknightdestiny**

It mattered not why he had decided to attend the reunion dressed in full formal attire. The question that really mattered was why he had bothered to go in the first place, not why he was wearing what he wore. After all, this was Vincent Valentine, and Vincent Valentine always made sure to do the proper thing.

Vincent sat at the bar, watching the dull red liquid in his glass sit stagnant, catching the wandering lights of the dance floor. Every once in a while, a glaring beacon would shine through to the spot where they were settled, and his eyes would catch the flecks of dust floating in the air about the brilliantly varnished countertop.

Why had he gone in the first place? It made no sense. He was sure that no one wished to see him, and that it was improper for him to show himself when he'd denied contact with the rest of the group ever since the end of their mission. It was as if he'd shrugged them off like they'd never mattered at all, like he was only using them to get to Hojo. But he did stay with them until the very end. Something had kept him there, but to them, it might have been his own need for closure. Maybe it was. When all was said and done, and Sephiroth had been defeated, he'd simply left them and disappeared, thinking that everything would go back to the way it was before.

And it did. He still felt empty deep down inside.

"Vincent," Tifa's soft but determined and hopeful voice came to him. "Why did you come here if you didn't want to see us?"

Vincent lifted his head a little and faced forward, looking past all of the poisons set before the patrons. Behind them was a mirror, but he was not looking at his own reflection; he'd learned a long time ago that if he stared at himself for too long in the mirror, that he would become rapidly unstable. Instead, he watched the scene behind him from his view in the mirror, watched as the guests intertwined in dance, lacing intricate patterns on the floor. The music played softly but steadily in the background, and he let it all just fade into the back of his mind.

As Vincent stared into the abyss of oblivion, his wish to push everything away was halted by the distraction of that one, simple question. Why?

"Vincent, why?" Tifa asked again, taking the seat next to him. Her eyes were full of concern, and her brow creased with worry as she tried to dissect all the possible thoughts that could be running through his mind. Did he actually miss them? Was it possible that in some way, he had grown attached to them, that the cold and quiet, lone wolf of the pack had wanted some company?

Vincent sighed quietly and set his glass down on the bar counter with a soft clinking sound. He shifted around in his seat until he was facing Tifa eye to eye. She shifted a bit under his gaze, but she calmed down soon after, her heart returning to its normal pace. She never had gotten used to the way his eyes glinted in the shadows, but somewhere down the line it had grown on her, and it had become more comforting than awkward.

Vincent took a breath, then hesitated, seemingly in deep concentration. "...Tifa...how have you been?"

It was a simple question, but it didn't afford her any answers. "I've been fine, Vincent. I've just been a little worried. But that still doesn't answer my question, you know," she replied, in a tone which suggested that she already knew he wasn't going to give her a straight answer.

How wrong she was.

Vincent began again, albeit a bit more slowly. "It should." Soft and unwavering, not worried in the least about her reaction. Or so it came across to her.

Tifa's face turned to one of puzzlement. She shook her head slowly and answered, "I'm not sure I understand."

Vincent closed his eyes and a smile, though a very small one, graced his face. When he opened his eyes, he was staring straight into Tifa's. "...It has been a long time since I have had a person enter my life that I would consider to be a friend. I suppose I would have had to come sooner or later. I...wanted to see how you were."

"Vincent!" Tifa exploded in a hushed voice, lest everyone in the room overhear. "You could have done that anytime! You said yourself you knew where I was..."

"I did not want you to think I had abandoned you."

"By not coming to see me?" she replied, in another tone which this time suggested that it was the obvious answer. Vincent was effectively silenced. "See? I've got you there." Tifa held her finger up, leveled with Vincent's face. "You should have come to see me. What if I'd been in trouble?" she teased.

Vincent's face fell. Tifa was shocked at his reaction, and hadn't even stopped to think how her joking remark might have seriously affected him. Vincent had been known to take the blame of any tragedy on himself, if there was any possible way he could have prevented it.

"...Vincent, I didn't mean it like that," Tifa whispered, and she reached out and lightly touched his arm.

"Perhaps not," he replied, "But you are correct. I often wondered if you were all right."

"Then why didn't you come to see me?"

Vincent was silent for a while, choosing his words carefully. "...I dislike seeing disappointment in your face."

"Vincent, you never disappoint me."

"...And now?"

Tifa smiled at him, her eyes twinkling like those of a child who has just received the best present in the world. All she said was, "You came back."

Vincent blinked at her, at a loss for words. His face took on an expression of shock, however, when she lunged at him and wrapped her arms around him for the second time that night. The look quickly faded, but his face retained a sense of awkward discomfort.

"I missed you so much," she said, holding on to him tightly as her eyes followed the feet of the dancers on the floor. "I can finally relax, knowing that you're okay."

Vincent raised an eyebrow and looked down at the young woman that had instantly made herself so comfortable in his arms. "...You were truly worried?" She nodded, and he let out another sigh. "There is no need to worry about me."

Tifa's head snapped up. "What, now you're not good enough for my worries?" Vincent suddenly looked like he knew he'd made a mistake by voicing that aloud. "Vincent, don't even think about insinuating that I don't know what I'm doing by caring about what happens to you."

Vincent gave up and let her stay where she was for a while, but the silence eventually became odd to the both of them, and so he pulled away ever so slightly. She followed suit, and she was sitting straight up in her chair once again in no time. Vincent turned back to the bar, and picked up his glass, swirling the deep red wine around in it, Tifa watching anxiously.

"...Will you come back with me?"

Vincent contemplated answering Tifa's question for a bit. Should he go? Would the others be as interested in seeing him as she had been? He'd been more inclined to trust Tifa to be accepting of him than he had the others, simply because she'd been so accepting in the past. He hadn't felt that he deserved any of it, but she'd been so warm and inviting to him, he had given up after he realized her hopes wouldn't be put out.

Before he'd had a chance to make up his mind, a certain young girl made an appearance at the bar.

"Tifa, oh my gawsh, you have got to come and see this guy!!" the ninja squealed, bouncing around in front of her. Tifa quickly glanced over at Vincent, who was still staring at his glass, his face obscured in the shadows of the room. Needless to say, Yuffie hadn't noticed him. Tifa pretended like nothing had happened and turned back to Yuffie.

"Why do I want to see him?"

"Because," Yuffie whined, "you've got to dance with him!"

Tifa stared back at Yuffie, not wanting to comply at all. "I really don't think-"

"Tifa, you're not going to make me look like an ass, are you?" Yuffie reprimanded. Unbeknownst to the two girls, Vincent was smirking.

"Yuffie...I don't want to dance with a stranger..."

"But he's gorgeous!" Yuffie interrupted. "And..." her voice dropped, "they're gonna play a tango." Yuffie threw a draw into that last word and waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Tifa blinked back at Yuffie, before replying, "Now I really don't want to dance with him."

"Tifa, you're going to look like a snob if you stand there and don't dance with him when the music starts!" Yuffie waved her hands in the air.

Tifa shrugged. "What is there to say? I can't do that...it'd be creepy."

Yuffie's mouth dropped open. Vincent smiled inside at hearing Tifa use the word "creepy" to describe another person, since she was always so kind to everyone she met. Yuffie stared her down in shock, disbelieving that Tifa would leave her hanging like that. "I can't believe you're just going to let me look like an idiot! I told him you would!"

Tifa eyed her with a smug look, as if she knew she was teaching her a lesson. "You didn't ask me first, Yuffie."

The ninja threw up her arms. "I give up!" she huffed, and stormed off.

Now, Tifa Lockheart had never been the kind of person who would leave a friend hanging. Tifa never thought herself a snob, and she was always open to trying new things, so when Yuffie stormed off in a hurry, something was shaken up a bit, deep down inside of her. She turned back to Vincent.

Vincent remained intent on watching his glass and not getting caught up in Yuffie's immediate tribulation of the day. Tifa watched him for a minute, and then cleared her throat. He raised his head up a bit, and looked at her with the most blank expression he could muster, regardless of all the things he had just heard.

"So..." she started, "way to slink back into the shadows when Yuffie showed up."

Vincent, still trying not to show a smile, replied with a most composed exterior, "Do you think it wise to let her be the first I talk to?"

Tifa mocked an expression of deep thought, knowing she was beaten. "So maybe you're right."

He nodded once.

"So..."

Vincent was silent.

"What do you think I should do?" she finally asked.

Vincent's lack of expression turned to one of slightly visible amusement. "Do you feel badly for him?"

"No!" she replied, all too quickly. "Well...maybe. But it's just...weird." She looked across the room and saw Yuffie standing with two men, the ninja girl waving back at her. Both of the men winked at her slyly. Tifa turned around quickly, not wanting to be tempted to wave back out of mere politeness. "...I really don't want to do this," she breathed out in a panic.

"You do not have to do anything you do not wish to," Vincent mused aloud, as calmly and as quietly as ever. Tifa was convinced that there was no way he could possibly understand the sudden stressfulness of her situation.

"It looks like I do," she sighed, half moaning.

"...May I ask why?"

"Well what am I supposed to do? Make up an excuse? Lie? Just come out and tell him I think it's creepy? Vincent, I haven't had quite enough liquor to just go and make a fool out of myself with a stranger."

Vincent decided it was as good a time as any to voice a sudden question that popped into his head. "...How much have you had?" he asked idly.

"None," she replied, "and anyways, what else is there to do? Find someone and ask him to pretend he's my boyfriend? I don't think that's-"

"You have put much thought into this already, I can see." Tifa eyed Vincent out of the corner of her eye as he stopped her in the middle of her rambling, and she could see a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She glared in his direction, mocking anger and frustration. "You think this is funny." Perhaps the frustration wasn't a total mockery, but it wasn't directed towards him.

"I find it trivial. That is all."

Tifa stood in silence, watching him as his red eyes bore into hers. He wasn't making fun of her, she realized. He clearly did find it a trivial matter, and he didn't view it to be a life-threatening situation if Tifa decided to let one stranger have one dance. But he didn't realize how things were with Tifa! She had always been a kind person to everyone she met, and if the man asked her for contact information, that could lead to weeks of dating, all because she felt guilted into it. To Tifa, hurting someone's feelings was the worst thing she could do.

To Vincent, if Tifa decided to let this man have just one dance, she'd be doing him a favor. Of course, Vincent wasn't thinking of this at the moment. If someone had asked him, however, he couldn't deny that. He knew what a wonderful person she was, and that she also wasn't just a spectacle to be passed around, even though he did think she was beautiful. But many people thought she was beautiful, and so he didn't think much of it at the time. However, something about her stood out to him. She wasn't like most women that could be found in large supply at dances and bars; she was real with her friends, she had a genuine personality, and she didn't fake her way through a conversation. Yes, even when she was only trying to spare someone's feelings, she would find a loophole somewhere in the conversation, because another thing that Tifa refused to do was lie. How he admired that.

And yet somehow, she always seemed to get herself into situations like the one she was in.

Tifa grasped for words, but she couldn't find anything to counter his blunt statement. Did this mean he thought she made a big deal out of nothing? In this case, he thought she was, but he wasn't thinking of all the implications it held for her, since she was already thinking ahead, being wary of all the trouble it could make for her at the end of the night. Just then, another worry entered Tifa's mind, and that was the worry that one of her friends might not think as much of her as she thought he did.

Sometimes Tifa needed someone to listen, not someone to cut her off with a simple answer. But that was how Vincent always was. He either acted, or he offered a course of action. He never sat down and talked about everything in depth, unless it was something that seemed important to him.

She wished that she could just shrug the inevitable off and stay at the bar, talking to Vincent about something that did matter to him. She still had so many questions, and she didn't know how long he would be staying in the city, or if he would want to open up to her like he did those few times back then. If that night was all she had, she wanted to make the most of it. If he was just going to leave again, she wanted to ask everything that had been eating at her, and she wanted to get to know him as best she could in the small time frame she did have.

But he'd stayed after he found out she was living there, hadn't he? Would he have any reason to leave again? What made him decide on Junon anyway? What were his reasons for staying? There was a part of Tifa that just wouldn't let go of the fear that she would lose her friend forever. She'd been so grieved before, and she didn't ever want to go through that again.

She sighed and let her eyes fall onto the shining glass that he'd laid his hand next to. "I guess you're right." Vincent's eyes followed hers, and he detected a hint of rejection and apology in her voice. He wondered if perhaps she thought he viewed her as silly. She sounded so disappointed at the reply he'd given her, but he didn't think her silly at all. She was still young, and she was still on her way to developing into the person she was going to be for the rest of her life. In all the time he'd known her, Vincent viewed Tifa as a caring individual who usually let herself be taken advantage of, because she was so confused in her feelings, and she always went by whatever they were telling her at the moment when she made decisions.

It was no wonder she was so hesitant to do something so simple, that didn't even have to mean anything. It was actually kind of endearing, seeing her so meaningful but helpless in the situation.

Tifa watched the happenings at the bar for a few moments. The bar hostess, an adorable short woman who stood up on a stool behind the counter and leaned over the surface on her elbows in order to be heard over the commotion, was happily pouring tequila shots for her customers. "I think..." Tifa started, "that we'd better move somewhere else before these guys get a little too rowdy. What do you think?"

Vincent opened his mouth to give a reply, but just as he did, an undeniably bold chord was struck from somewhere on the other side of the room. There was a distant sound of laughter as the chord was repeated, and then the musicians launched into a quick tune-up. Tifa knew what was coming next.

"Oh no...I'm not ready to do this..." she pleaded aloud.

Her frantic bits and pieces of audible panic were interrupted by a soft voice beside her. "...Do you know how?"

Tifa nodded, watching the floor nervously as people began to gather. "I know how, it's just...that dance is very...how should I put this...close?"

"Intimate?"

She nodded again. "I don't want to do that with someone I don't know."

"...It is only a dance, and nothing more."

"But I don't want him to think it could be!" she replied, her facial expression stressing the things she was feeling inside.

"Perhaps," he voiced a sudden thought, "you should find someone to dance with, whom you do not mind telling this to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dance with someone who knows that it is only a dance. Then you will just be doing each other a favor."

Tifa didn't know what to say. It was true that with her excellent figure and beautiful face, she shouldn't have any trouble finding someone who would just dance with her, knowing full well that it didn't mean anything. But a far as she knew, even if this man knew that it didn't mean anything, and she still wouldn't want to dance with him. It just seemed all too weird to Tifa, doing the tango with a complete stranger.

That familiar chord struck again, and Tifa could only wish that someone would come to save her. She would have gladly taken a return of Meteor, just so she could have an excuse to leave and busy herself with something else. She glanced over at Vincent, who was standing up next to his chair, laying his coat over the back of it. She made a side note that she had been right; he was wearing formal attire. She would remember to pester him about it when she wasn't preoccupied with dodging spur of the moment commitments.

"Vincent, you're not leaving me now, are you?" she half whispered, begging him not to go.

Vincent merely nodded towards the dance floor, Tifa questioning the meaning behind the gesture. Was he telling her to go out there and dance with that stranger? Did he really think it was a good idea? Had he gone insane? Tifa was about to protest, about to whine, about to break down in front of him in a pitiful display of early adult angst.

And then he offered her his hand.

A/N: I apologize if it's all too soon, all too fast. I was listening to _Interrupted by Fireworks_ when I wrote this, so...yeah. A bit sappy.

Anyhow, while you're waiting for the next chapter of _Flirting with Death_, if you've got extra time on your hands, go read my one-shot, _Pretty in Red_, if you haven't already. It's uh...different. [smirks]

Now to go and work on my other new one-shot. I'll get it up as soon as I have a title.


	5. Flustered Fandango

**To Know You  
Chapter Five: Flustered Fandango  
By Darknightdestiny**

Tifa found herself out on the dance floor, under the heat of the lights. Was it really that hot before? She didn't think so, but she felt that the weight of everyone's gazing added to the rapidly rising temperature. In truth, no one had singled them out from any of the other couples. Not even Yuffie...yet.

Tifa looked nervously about her, her eyes darting to and fro, while she kept her head perfectly still, her chin tilted downwards once she had realized what was happening. And though she was scanning the entire room for no other reason except that there was nothing else to be done, she didn't remember anything that she had seen.

Feeling her arms start to shake and her knees start to wobble uncontrollably, she did the only thing she could think of, knowing that she had already turned a full flush of pink. As she stepped closer to Vincent, she tried to hide her face as she inched towards his ear, letting out uneven, tremblng words.

"Vincent," she whispered, "what are you doing?"

One corner of his mouth inched upwards at the urgent and uncomfortable tone in her voice, but she was too close to see it. "...It was either this," he replied smoothly, "or we would wait until they came looking for you."

Tifa opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't think of a reply that would prove him wrong. It was true, she was out of ideas of her own. Instead, she just let out a sigh, coupled with a nervous spasming of her chest. The hot air hit the side of his face and sent a chill down his spine.

The familiar chord was struck again, but this time it changed just slightly. Tifa's heart began to quicken its pace when she saw others leaving the dance floor suddenly, discouraged by the change in tune. She pulled back quickly and looked up at Vincent, fear in her eyes.

He looked back at her, as calm as always. "...You do know this dance?"

Tifa only nodded in response, every muscle tightening on impulse. She knew that it wouldn't be a mere tango they would be performing. As the sound of castinets flooded the hall, she tensed even further.

She felt a heat well up inside of her and she knew the blood had flowed to her face, making it an extreme shade of red. Chancing a glance down, she found that what was visible of her neck and chest was also flushing pink. Her head was spinning, and she thought that she might faint, and yet her body moved mechanically in preparation for the dance.

Before she knew what was happening, there was a smooth coldness at her back and her left hand was gripped comfortably in his right hand. The warmth of his hand covered hers, and she idly noted how small she felt next to him, something she had never realized before. She felt him nudging her forward with his left arm, a coldness permeating the fabric near her lower back and sending a shudder throughout her body.

She felt herself sway under the last introductory chord as he pulled her into position, and she fell into step against him. Thoughts flooded her mind at once, all of them pushing at the others, bidding for the attention she could give them. Would she ever, in all the time she had spent alone with him, have asked him to do this for her? Granted, she viewed it as much more of an intimate thing than he did, but she would never have asked him to dance with her, much less in the fashion they were about to. What if she made a move that was too forward? Even if he had been someone she had dated a few times, it would be a concern for her, but Vincent...Vincent was...Vincent.

She started as he pressed himself up against her, and her foot instinctively moved backwards as his moved forwards in rhythm to the music. At first, she concentrated hard on the steps, though her mind kept wandering back to the questions she had. Maybe she was making a big deal out of nothing after all. Though she was sure everything that Vincent thought about and all the reasons for his actions were very complex, the way he dealt with people seemed so simple to her.

Too many thoughts were running through Tifa's head, and she tried instead to let the sounds of the music take over, so that she didn't have to think about anything for a while. Soon enough, the beat was echoing in her ears in time with her feet as they made contact with the floor. Her heels clicked against the wood as the two of them moved back and forth across the floor, advancing on one another in turn. The constant attention to where her feet were placed faded away as the rhythm resounded in her head. The way she shifted in time with him brought her attention suddenly to her hips, which, if both of them had not had their knees bent in said advancement, would have just brushed his own if they had stopped and stood still.

In the midst of this realization, she was quickly separated from him for a brief moment as she felt her arm lifted above her head. The room spun for a short while, as did her feet, and then she found herself held tightly against him. She was so close that she could feel his skin shifting beneath his shirt, and she could smell his musky scent. As soon as she recognized it, they began the next phase of the dance, another advancement like before, but with her being held much more tightly by him.

On second thought, she decided that she would not need to worry about making him feel uncomfortable with her steps.

She had no more thought for the crowd that was watching, and hadn't even noticed that no other couples remained on the dance floor. Something was rising up in her, and it told her to be cautious, while at the same time it told her to rid herself of all her inhibitions. It was as if she was being forced to decide something, and this something she did not know, a feeling that she hadn't felt in a long time. She knew that she needed a jolt back to reality, felt as if her perception was being altered without her permission, as if she couldn't believe she was doing what she was.

And if she had told herself she would be doing that very thing ten minutes ago, she wouldn't have believed it then.

It was as if she didn't have the right, and she was excited and frightened all at the same time. She was a bit scared of what had just happened; she'd made a simple gesture into something else, and she was more than a little embarassed to admit it to herself. But the thing that was really getting to her was that she'd already gone so far into the idea that she feared she might look at her friend in another light.

She didn't have time to explore that point any further, because just then, her arm was lifted above her head again. The room spun around her once more, and came to a sudden halt as her back was pulled back into the solid, warm surface that was Vincent's chest. She hadn't noticed that, during her wandering thoughts, she had been holding a lot of air in, and so when she hit the surface of his body, it rushed out from her in the form of a quick gasp.

This Vincent took to mean only that; she had been caught off-guard with the jolt, and she'd not been expecting it. In hindsight, however, Tifa silently wondered if there hadn't been a small bit of something else mixed in there with it. As she felt his hands slide from their entanglement in her own and move to her hips, she nearly prayed the dance would soon end.

He grasped her firmly and spun her around to face him, and his right hand moved back to pull her in by her waist. She swung her leg back in one quick motion to touch it to the floor a few feet behind her, before swinging it forward, resting it on his hip. Before she'd even stopped to think about what she'd just done, it was all finished; she was practically lifted off of her other foot as she fell backwards, and he caught her up in his arms in a graceful dip.

The music ended abruptly; Tifa lifted her neck from the strain and found herself staring up into his crimson eyes. She couldn't bring herself to look away, but she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable or think that she had gotten the wrong idea from the simple 'favor' he had just granted her. She was broken from her frantic thoughts by a voice that broke out to the side, bringing back her sense of hearing and alerting her to the shouting and applause, and her breath caught in her throat.

"Shit! Vincent, is that you?!"

There was a sudden jolt as Tifa felt herself drop an inch from where she was suspended, and she was caught by Vincent quickly. To the casual observer, it had never happened, but she had been afraid that she would fall. She knew immediately who had called out his name, and she winced at the knowledge of how this was going to affect Vincent, but at the same time, she smiled inside. She knew that the others would be happy to see him, even if he hadn't been very adamant about facing them.

Vincent slowly stood up and let a blushing Tifa slide back down to the floor, before tilting his head cautiously to the direction of the voice. She saw the uneasiness rise in him, and she couldn't help but think that their dance would make the situation worse. She reached out and gently took his arm in her hand, and she felt him tense up. "Come on," she urged in a hushed voice. "It won't be that bad."

After a few repetitions of comforting words, none of which she believed had actually had an effect on him, Vincent reluctantly let her lead him over to the table. As they got closer, he let his arm loose from her hand and resumed his independent nature. Tifa was slightly hurt by this, but she didn't know why. After all, she thought she understood him by then, and it seemed like something he would do. So why should it upset her?

They had just about reached the table when Vincent was pelted in the chest with a rose, which was straight out of the vase on the table, and a little wet at the tip. "There y' go, Casanova!" Vincent reached down and plucked the light object from the place where it hung in a fold on his shirt, setting it next to him as he was grabbed by Cid and shoved quickly into a seat.

He had only been sitting there for a moment when a high-pitched and angry voice was heard right next to his ear. "Who's the guy who made me look like an...Vinnie!" Yuffie stood next to the table with one young man in tow and her hands on her hips, her mouth wide open. "Vinnie, what are you doing here?"

Vincent looked up at her with a blank expression and shrugged his shoulders once. Cid sat down next to him and huffed out, "Couldn't keep yerself away, eh?" Tifa smiled, knowing that Cid had been cushioning her heartache just moments before, so sure that Vincent didn't want to come back. And perhaps he had been right. But he was there, and now Cid could go on like he knew he was going to be there the entire time.

Vincent looked up at Tifa, who was still standing next to the table, and he reached over next to him and pulled another chair out for her to sit in. She sat down and propped her left elbow on the table, turning to Cid and Vincent, waiting for Vincent to have his fill before walking out again in utter annoyance. She saw him relax a bit, however, when she sat down next to him.

"So, Vince..." Cid started, "Lemme hear all 'bout whatcha been up to. I've been so bored...this music sucks! Hey, is this what they played when you were a young'n?" Cid laughed long and loud.

"No..." Vincent cooly replied. "I am old enough to be your father, not your grandfather. And if you had been my child, I would backhand you." Vincent turned and ordered another glass of wine while Cid sat there and recovered.

"Well," Cid snickered as the waitress left, "I hafta hand it to you, old timer-"

"Cid...is that a wrinkle on your forehead?"

"Shut up!"

"Perhaps if you stopped smoking..."

"You wanna take this outside?"

Vincent looked at Cid, and Cid looked at Vincent. The rest of the table was silent, save for Yuffie, who had stumbled off giggling and was currently holding both hands over her mouth, lest she be viciously reminded by the two men that she was overstepping the unspoken line they'd set. Vincent's eyes bore into Cid's until the pilot could barely take it anymore, and then his mouth twitched once before turning into a small smirk.

Cid let out a laugh, albeit a bit nervous. He was glad to have his ally back, even if he was a bit unpredictable. But the short conversation, no matter how in jest it was, had Tifa's thoughts straying down other paths.

It had been a bit awkward, but no one asked Vincent why he didn't call or write, ever since that topic had been guided away by Cid's inability to resist a joke. Tifa still thought about it, however. She laughed inwardly at the idea of Vincent being Cid's father, but she couldn't help thinking what Vincent's life could have been like if certain things hadn't happened. She might not have ever met him. Who knew? He might have had children of hs own. Things could have turned out quite differently.

A/N: Sorry it took so long for the update. I'll be working on the other fics I have later tonight, possibly tomorrow, since it is my day off. I'm thinking of writing a Valentine's Day one-shot, but if I do, I'd better get started.

As for the interaction between Vincent and Cid, did anyone else catch how easily they got along in the game? Vince even calls Cid "champ" on the train to Corel during the Huge Materia hunt, and so I didn't think it was out of character for me to add a bit of friendly joking between the two of them.

Like I said, there's a background for Vincent and Tifa between _Vincent's Last Birthday Escapade_ and _To Know You_ that I've been revealing piece by piece. This story might turn out to be 12 to 15 chapters long, but I originally intended it to only be about 10. I apologize if it seems like it's moving too quickly, but I do intend to be more thorough with the motivations behind their actions.

And...if you scroll semi-quickly through the first part, it looks like a lemon. I just...couldn't resist mentioning it. I find it amusing.


	6. Night Flight

**To Know You  
Chapter Six: Night Flight  
By Darknightdestiny**

The night was filled with laughter, long and loud, from those gathered around the table. Tifa watched, smiling to herself and thinking that everything was the way it should be. Yuffie hadn't changed at all; she was still the mischievous pixie she had always been, and she and Cid still fought like children the entire night. It was due to this that the young man Yuffie had brought over eventually wandered off on his own.

The most uncomfortable part of the evening, for her, was having Cloud catch her eye periodically from the other side of the table. He was just as friendly as he'd ever been, but after what had happened on the dance floor, she felt somehow guilty and criticized herself for making a show of it. But when it really came down to it, was there any reason for her to feel badly? After all, Vincent had initiated the dance, no matter what the reason had been, and they were friends.

She realized though, that to the others, Vincent had never really acknowledged a state of friendship to any of them. And even though he had initially let her in, she couldn't help but think she had forced her way into his life unwanted. It truly was that hard for her to believe that Vincent wanted any friends in his life, and yet there they were, and he had made the decision to join them. But she couldn't help doubting the sincerity of his relationship with her. Sometimes she thought that he was allowing her to spend time with him more for her benefit than for his, and that maybe he had returned to ease her fears, because he had known she would miss him.

And Cloud...he had never said anything before, so why should he care?

All of these thoughts battered her brain like a whirlwind each time that Cloud gave her a passive, knowing look, disrupting her attention from the rest of the conversation. Every once in a while, his eyes would flick from her to Vincent, and then back again, signifying that he was reading much more into their display than she would have liked. This caused her to wonder if the others had seen something that she hadn't. Perhaps there was something she had done unconsciously, something she had missed? Though Vincent had resigned himself to the table, she still thought he looked uncomfortable, and she reasoned that even if she had been Vincent, if given the choice to join the rest of the group or subject herself to the possible approach of strangers seeking to praise her performance, she too would have joined the group.

It was true that several people had approached their table that night to comment on the dance Vincent and Tifa had shared. Each time they left, she felt a pang of uncertainty when she looked over at Vincent, whose eyes remained fixed on the table as he continued to listen to Cid, who then resumed telling a story about his earliest days of flight or tea gone bad. After only half an hour, she got the feeling that Vincent was beginning to regret his decision, that he wanted to bolt for the door and never return. And she felt like she was keeping him there.

Cloud had offered Tifa a ride back to her place, but she'd politely refused. He'd left early, saying he had things he had to do, and she had wanted to remain behind with the others for a while longer. One by one they had all gone as well, and she was left with Vincent, the two of them alone at the table.

She'd taken the opportunity to ask him if he was happy he'd returned to the group. The reply she'd received was rather cryptic, but the gist of it was that happiness is what one makes of it, and he certainly wasn't miserable. There was a growing silence that brought discomfort between them, and Tifa longed to bring up a new subject to talk about, but she couldn't think of anything with all the sudden worries that had accumulated in her head that evening. Feeling guilty that he had joined them and the night had ended up being less than eventful for him, the idea came to her that he hadn't yet seen the bar.

And now they ran faster with each step, the water dragging them down and drenching their flesh and bones.

Lightning streaked across the sky, flashing against a dark curtain of water, illuminating the blackness with soft hues of blue, grey and purple. Nearly tripping over each other's feet and splashing small waves up onto each other's legs in the process, both Tifa and Vincent ran through the empty streets of downtown Junon. The trolleys by the pier had stopped making their rounds, and though there were a few people scattering throughout the streets, most everyone else had made it inside.

Vincent stopped under the awning that hung over the entrance to the pier. Tifa continued running, but fell back to his side when she realized the pull of his arm and looked down, seeing that she had his hand gripped in her own. She let go once she had calmed herself and saw him staring out over her into the distance where the rain fell onto the slick, black pavement. She stepped up to him and around to his side where she tugged on his arm. "What are we stopping for?" she asked him.

Vincent's face contorted in amusement. "I do not know which direction to take." Tifa sighed audibly in realization, though the sound of the rain muted it. A smile broke out on her face, and she grabbed his hand again and led him back out into the rain. She felt his wrist tense immediately, but his fingers were slack, lest his involuntary muscle movement force him to grasp her own fingers in return.

"This way!" she shouted over the next wave of thunder.

He followed her around the corner and out into the middle of the street. To his right, the stone seawall came to an abrupt end, and the raging waters seemed to stretch on forever. To his left, a row of shops began where the pier ended. Just ahead there loomed a large, grey apartment complex. Tifa ran on, and he followed; he caught up to her easily.

"Didn't you say you knew where it was?" she shouted over the crashing water.

"...I have heard of it, but I have never attempted the trip myself," he replied hesitantly, remembering her reaction when he told her he had known of her location earlier.

Tifa fell forward suddenly, her shoe having caught on her dress. She'd have removed them, but she couldn't be sure what kinds of things were lying around on the ground outside of the pier. Vincent caught her arm in his right hand, and his left arm reached around her front, catching her by the waist before she pitched into the asphault. She fell into him without much grace, but he held her tightly, despite the initial bumping when her head met his chest quite roughly. As it was, they were both on their knees in the rain, and Tifa's teeth were beginning to chatter.

Vincent felt Tifa begin to shake against him, and he pulled her up and turned her sideways, shifting her into his lap and holding her close. "Where is the bar?" he asked her softly, with an edge to his voice that betrayed his concern. Tifa's arm shot out into the cold, and she waved in the direction of the water.

"It's over there, past my apartment."

Vincent narrowed his eyes at the waves as the blue and green water tossed about violently in the heavy winds. He felt Tifa shudder in the sudden chill. "All I see is water."

Tifa buried her face in his shoulder, her eyes becoming blurry with the water, and her neck cold with the chill. "It's up the coast." Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his coat. "Mmm. I have a car, though." Her hair was wet and tangled, and it stuck to her bare back, adding to her growing discomfort.

Vincent shook his head at the implication. "I will not put you in a car when you are cold and wet." The both of them were soaked through, and it made no sense to travel up the coast and visit the bar. "Where is your apartment?"

Tifa jerked in his grip again. "Fifth floor."

"In the building up ahead?"

She nodded. "Y-yes," she replied in a low voice, stuttering that time as the unrelenting wind attacked her body.

Vincent secured his clawed arm around her back, and he slid his right arm under her knees. Leaning forward slightly, he found the momentum he needed to lift the both of them from the ground. Startled, she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck as he started at a brisk pace towards her apartment complex. The rain continued to beat down on the both of them, and she could almost swear that it was falling harder than before.

"You don't have to do this," she said to him. "I can walk."

"You will fall," he replied simply, as if it was more a fact than a probability.

Tifa opened her mouth to reply, but then thought better of it, knowing that he was probably right; she would never be able to keep up with him anyway. Instead she closed her eyes as they continued onward, content to listen to the steady sound of Vincent's footsteps on the pavement, an almost inaudible knocking of his dress shoes against the ground. Paired with the much louder beating of the rain, which was by then falling in aggressive torrents, it was almost enough to put her to sleep.

The peaceful sound helped to take her mind off of the cold and the discomfort of the dress that was clinging to her legs as the fabric dangled in mid-air. She had just settled into his arms in preparation of resting her head back on his chest when she felt a wave of freezing cold air wash over her, accompanied by the gentle creaking sound of the lobby door. She inhaled sharply as the air nipped at her skin, and she tensed into him.

Her open eyes roamed the inside of the lobby as they passed by the front desk and the karaoke bar. Vincent stopped in front of the elevator. "...Would you do the honors?"

Tifa looked at him questioningly before realizing why he was angled slightly to the left. She reached out and, with a shaky hand, pushed the button. Vincent entered the elevator, and they began their ascent to Tifa's floor.

Tifa looked down lazily at the panelled floor of the elevator, where a small puddle of water was forming. She continued to shiver as she started to get used to the air in the building, and she snuggled closer to him. His muscles tightened as she brushed up against him softly, but he excused her actions because of the circumstances. A heavy silence hung in the air, and since they were no longer in the rain, and there was no danger of tripping on her dress, Tifa idly wondered why she was still in his arms. But he hadn't said anything, and so she let it be.

Not a long while after, there was a muted "ding", and the elevator doors slid open to reveal a beige carpeted hallway. Vincent stepped out onto the plush flooring and readjusted the bundle in his arms.

"What is the number?"

She shifted in his arms. "Five seventy-three."

He walked down the corridor, and was met at the end with a sign that had directions printed on it. He glanced at it and then turned to the left, continuing at his quick pace until he had nearly come to the end of that hall, and there he stopped at her door. He looked down at her until eventually, she met his eyes. He lifted one eyebrow, and she searched his expression for meaning.

"...Oh." Tifa reached down into the small purse she'd kept wedged between herself and Vincent and pulled out her key. He stepped closer to the door, and when she had unlocked it, they went inside. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, Tifa reached for the light and flipped it on, before she missed her chance and Vincent passed it, continuing to wander about without asking where it was. Then again, she couldn't be sure how well he could see in the dark.

The apartment was well furnished and tidy, modern and simple. There was a bone-colored leather couch and a matching recliner; these two surrounded a glass coffee table. The wall the couch faced was outfitted with a mahogany centre, with a flat screened television on the shelf. Right above the television sat the tape, but Vincent ignored this. The kitchen was off to the side, and was set up with a counter separating it from the living room. To each side of the living room setup, there was a sliding glass door that led to a balcony. His sensitive ears picked up the soft humming of a fan.

Vincent surveyed the room, his curiosity growing. It would seem she had been managing quite well on her own, though he knew she would. But even the strongest people sometimes needed help, he thought, as he looked down at her. "Shall I set you down?"

Tifa blushed a little, but then smiled wide, hoping he wouldn't notice. She nodded, and he let her down gently. Her face became a quick fire-engine red as she remembered the way she had slid from his hip back down to the dance floor earlier that night. She took that opportunity to quickly bend over and undo the straps to her heels, letting her long hair fall over her visage so that hopefully, he wouldn't see.

It didn't work.

He noticed the tinge to her cheeks, but said nothing about it. "You should change into some dry clothes," he intoned softly, his mind still on her reaction. Tifa stood when she had finished, nodding while she kept her head down. She consciously folded her arms across her chest, the draft in the room having affected her. Vincent noticed this as well, and it made him a bit uncomfortable, though he couldn't help but be amused by the mannerism in her cover up.

Tifa eventually gathered up the nerve to look at him, but he was eyeing the view from her balcony through the glass. She turned, her arms still crossed over her chest, and walked towards the door leading to her bedroom. Once inside, she was struck with the fear that he'd disappear into thin air once she shut the door. She poked her head out, checking to make sure that he hadn't left.

He was exactly where she had left him, still looking at the choppy sea. "Vincent?" she called out to him from the entrance to her room. He turned to look at her, his expression blank, but his eyes nearly dancing when he saw her face peaking around the door. This she did not catch. "Ah...could you stay for a little while? I'd like to talk with you; you know it's been a while since I've seen you last, and there's still so much we have to catch up on."

He tilted his head and his eyes roamed the surface of the coffee table, unconsciously searching for any flaws in the glass. To her it looked as if he was mulling it over in his head; to him, he had already made his decision, but he was looking for the right words. "I will stay...for a bit."

"Right." Tifa smiled and nodded her head, then shut the door behind her. She quickly stripped herself of her garment and rushed around her room, trying to find something suitable to wear. She didn't want to bother getting out something too nice, because it was after dark and she didn't plan on going anywhere that night, unless Vincent decided he wanted to see the bar. Even then, she had a car waiting in the parking lot downstairs, and they didn't have to get dressed up for a car ride, now did they? The notion came upon her that if she asked him to drop by the bar the next day, saving that activity for later, then she could get him to stay around for a while.

She grabbed a pair of sweats and a tank top before heading towards the bathroom for a hot shower, hurrying because she still had the idea that if she didn't, he might not be waiting for her when she came out.


	7. Learning to Live

**To Know You  
Chapter Seven: Learning to Live  
By Darknightdestiny**

  


Lyrics echoed back to her from the tile walls as she sang. It was a melancholy tune, a rather sad melody that built itself upon rounds of waves that seemed to represent a breaking heart.

She continued running her fingers through her slippery hair, making sure all traces of sweet-smelling conditioner were gone. When all she could feel was her sleek strands, she turned off her shower faucet and grabbed the soft, beige towel from the door. She wrapped it around her athletic yet voluptuous frame and wrung her hair out onto the shower floor before stepping out onto the warm tile. Stopping to light a lavender-scented candle, she ran her hand over the steam-tinged glass of the mirror in front of her and began to remove the towel from her body and run it over her tresses.

She stopped and stared at herself for a moment, noticing how the hot water had turned her skin a rosy shade of pink. One corner of her mouth turned up softly, and the other soon followed in amusement. All of her smiles had seemed so sad and far off ever since her mother died. Even the immense relief that had come with knowing that Sephiroth was gone and the planet was safe at last, she had found little to smile about since then.

She hung her towel on the shower door once again, knowing that she would wash it before she used it again, but folding it neatly at the corners still. She took her clothes from next to the sink and slipped them on. She reached out to the basket in the corner of the countertop and retrieved a large clip with which to pull her hair back; she then began to wash her face.

Vincent stood patiently in the same spot she had left him in. There, in the middle of her new apartment, he pondered what he was doing there, and whether or not he should even have returned in the first place. He knew, deep down inside, that if he hadn't, he would have spent the next year wondering how she had been. And he also knew that even though he had come, he would still spend the next year wondering how he might find her the next time he happened upon her. He had missed watching over her. Out of all the members of AVALANCHE, he had enjoyed her company the most. One on one, the rest were not so bad. But he found her company the most fulfilling of all. He could stand most of them if they were alone, but whenever he left her, he felt like he took something new with him, even if it was nothing more than something he had gathered from mere observation of her.

He had watched her fake a smile here and there, a sad and pathetic smile that he recognized all too well. He had stood by and watched her pine for Cloud, and mourn over Aeris' death like she had caused it somehow with her secret envy. He had watched her countless times as she stood on the deck of the Highwind, just looking at the stars. Just observing, merely existing. Heads clear and hearts trying not to dwell on anything but the moment. But the harder one tries not to dwell on something, the harder it becomes, and though his presence had been undetected, he could feel her heart dropping each time.

Of course he had reason to believe that she was not well, after all this time. Tifa was the type of person to dwell on everything until a resolve was met, and until someone else actually noticed that she needed some time spent on her, someone to sit and listen to her even if they offered nothing in return, she would never be all right.

His attention shifted at the slight creaking of the hinges to the bathroom door. He turned in time to see Tifa emerge from the room, and he even noticed the temperature of the room change as small whisps of steam escaped the small quarters. No longer alone in his reverie, he nodded to her in acknoledgement of her presence.

Tifa's eyes lit up in amusement. "You haven't had a seat yet?" She laughed softly, and it seemed to him it was almost forced. "You know my home is your home." Not quite sure of what to make of that, he obeyed and sat in the lone recliner.

Tifa walked into the kitchen and began to prepare some tea. Since it was only the two of them, she made single servings in cups rather than boil a kettle of water. "How have you been?" she called from the kitchen.

The room was silent on his end.

"Vincent?"

"...As expected. I suppose..."

Tifa smiled a small smile, and a genuine one this time, but only to herself. A typical response from a not-so-typical man. Then again, it was a rather general question. She let the room grow silent for the duration of a couple minutes. Just enough to finish the tea; she knew he wouldn't walk out despite the lack of conversation if he hadn't already left by then. When she was finished, she lifted the tea mugs from their place on the counter and walked back out into the living room.

"So," she began, "how long do you plan on staying in Junon?"

Vincent took the mug from her extended hand and set it onto his lap. Staring down at the contents, he answered her. "Until I decide it is time to move on."

"Well, when will that be?" she asked, the obvious answer being that he had not yet decided, but her outburst was a natural reaction to her fear that one day he might be suddenly unavailable to her and she might never see him again.

"...I do not know. I am not entirely sure what I am looking for here. There is not much left for me to do but to wander."

Tifa blinked back at him. She started, but closed her mouth once again. She didn't know what to say to that; it was a surprisingly honest and complete answer, and it revealed much more than she had expected to get out of him that entire evening. She was afraid to probe further, and yet, she didn't want their night to end just yet.

She was suddenly filled with such concern for him, such a sadness deep inside, that she realized her subconscious meaning in keeping him around. There was so much she didn't know, so much she had left to find out about her friend's inner workings, that she couldn't imagine letting him go. She was sure that, given her entire lifetime, she still would never know everything there was to know about Vincent Valentine.

"Please, Vincent." Tifa spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had set in. "Stay a while."

There was a short pause, and it seemed as if he was mulling it over in his head. But Tifa knew that answers like these were the type that Vincent would already have decided upon. He didn't need to think it over; his mind would have been made up, even if he didn't know it yet. Vincent was the kind of person who was set in his ways. His heart tended to lean one way or the other, though if anyone ever wondered at that aloud, he would deny that he had a heart, or that he felt anything with it. If he were to change, there would have to be extenuating circumstances...

"I have no reason to go in a hurry," he said. "I have no plans."

One corner of Tifa's mouth inched upwards in a sort of feminine smirk that only she could produce. "So you have time for me after all?"

"I have...all the time you need." The implications in this reply and all the pricetags that went along with it were of no point to him. He was miles away from what this could mean for him further down the road in their friendship. But to her, it was like a promise that he would be there when she needed him. And whether it was or not, on his part, she was going to hold him to it.

Yes, she decided then and there, silently to herself, she would hold him to it.

"So...why here, in the first place?"

"...The weather."

Tifa wondered at this. "Oh?" The weather in Junon was, she thought, horrible. It could be foggy one night, then rainy the next, thunderstorms brewing all the time. Because of the rain, it was often chilly and it was easy to catch a cold. And it always seemed so dark...

"I enjoy the weather. It's suitable enough." How beautiful it seemed to him, he did not mention. How he felt at home in it, he did not say. But it was, and he did.

"Oh."

Silence.

"Well...what have you been doing? How do you spend your free time?"

One eyebrow quirked at the mention of free time. "You make it sound as if I have other business to attend to."

"You know what I mean. And if you say that, then next time you try to get out of something by saying you have business to attend to, I'll simply reply that you don't." She smirked again in that adorable way that nearly revealed a small dimple in her cheek that she'd had ever since she was a small child. It didn't go unnoticed.

"...Very well." He paused, taking in the air of the room thinly through his nose. It smelled of...lavender. Hot water...mist...body heat...soap. It was comfortable, relaxing, and familiar. It made him want to take a nap. He quickly shook the mental intrusion away. "I spend my time taking in everything around me."

"...That's it?"

"That's it."

"And...?"

"And I appreciate it. If I must exist, I must not loathe it. And what else is there?"

Silence.

He had given it away. Whether or not he realized it, he had given away something that made him so vulnerable to her, so suddenly and verily different than before. Just one subtle change had taken place in him over the last nine months, and it wasn't the dinner scene they had caused, though the scene itself might have been a result of it.

"Vincent?"

He had succumbed.

"...Yes?"

He had given in.

"Will you..." She paused in hesitation before recovering her ground. "Will you come out to the bar tomorrow and meet me there?"

He had finally learned to live.

**A/N:** Well I finally updated. I wanted to, really I did. I've just been so busy with working and saving and trying to get out of Florida. He's got two jobs now though, so I get a lot of time to myself at the apartment that I'd rather not have because I don't know what to do with myself. Maybe I can write again. I just need some motivation and to get rid of my block.

That smirk that only she can pull off? That's mine. The one trait I always hated in myself, but my father and Joe tell me is something endearing and attractive, and possibly part of the reason I get sincere attention. Strange.

Thanks so much to everyone who stuck around and waited for this. I appreciate it so very much.

And a very special Thank-you to thelittletree and JessAngel. You know why.


	8. The Bar Beckons

**To Know You  
Chapter Eight: The Bar Beckons  
By Darknightdestiny**

The building was ideal; not too large for a team to handle, and not too small to accomodate a decent crowd. The outside was a show of excellent artistry; the exterior was of a dull, charming brick pattern, and the beautifully varnished porch added a welcoming touch. He took another glance down at the piece of paper in his hand. This was definitely the place. Without paying any further attention to his surroundings, he approached the door.

Placing his right hand on the door handle, he fully expected it to open when he pulled at it. And it did. There was something about Tifa's generally warm and friendly nature that told him it wouldn't be locked this morning. She was expecting him, and her thought process as of late would dictate that if he found the door to be locked, he might not go to the trouble of finding his way in. Besides, she could easily protect herself against anyone who meant her harm.

As soon as he had entered the bar, he found himself in a more than comfortable setting. The room was neither warm or cold, but the sunlight refracted through the window cast a pleasant sensation throughout his body as it lighted on his back. The soft rays cast light patterns on the shiny wooden floors, which appeared to be pinkish in tint in some places. He let his eyes follow the source of the colored light to the racks hanging above the counter; clear, sparkling glasses hung just in reach of whomever was working the floor below, and they were tinged with a deep, red ring around the rims.

"Vincent."

He turned his head in the direction of the silken voice and found his friend standing in the entryway from the kitchen into the dining room.

"Tifa." His friend.

She approached him slowly, but without fear. She took her time more than she hesitated, and when she reached him, she looked right up into his bright red eyes and said, "I'm so glad you came." Her mouth started to pull upward at one corner even as she spoke, and by the time those five words had escaped her lips, she was flashing him a sincere smile.

He had come.

"Well! Here, let me show you around..." She lightly touched his arm and then pivoted in a perfect half-circle to face the direction she had come from. He let his eyes settle on the spot she had made contact with for a moment before letting it fall back into the recesses of his consciousness, then followed her about the tavern. There was nearly a skip in her step as she revealed her place to him, sharing the one joy that was truly hers to keep for as long as she could hope to maintain it.

"This is the kitchen back here," she said, as she led him through the swinging metal doors. He followed her into the back, where she gave him a quick walkthrough of each item, first turning sharply through the pantry door on the left. He wasn't paying as much attention as he could have, however. His ears kept picking up the sound of shuffling in the very back of the room. When they'd exited the pantry, the two of them came upon a tall, lanky dark-skinned man who was clearly prepping the day's food portions. That had been the shuffling noise Vincent had detected...

"Vincent, this is Orlando. He's our head chef; some days he'll take the brunt of the entire place by himself." She said this with a satisfied grin, taking pride in the fact that she had the very best working with her. Orlando held his hand out to Vincent, but Vincent only took it in visually. He glanced from Orlando's hand to his face, then back to his hand, and then raised his eyes to meet with his. Then, he nodded.

Orlando tilted his head in mild amusement and nodded back. The startling shade of Vincent's eyes didn't seem to disturb him at all; either that or he hadn't noticed. But it was hard not to notice Vincent's eye color under the bright lights illuminating the prep tables. Vincent kept his left arm close to his side and under his cloak. He didn't want to frighten the poor man on his first impression, forcing himself to deny any further requests on Tifa's part that he visit the bar.

Tifa stood there in bewilderment for a moment before she recovered the greater of her senses. "...And...now that the two of you have met, we'll move on with the tour!" No matter what she was recovering from, it seemed she always did it with a smile.

Vincent was on his way to follow Tifa, when he heard Orlando chuckle under his breath. "Heh heh...you're a lucky man." He hesitated for a minute, and then went on his way. What did he know? Vincent knew that her cheery disposition was completely false half of the time, and he also knew that, genuine or not, it wasn't reserved only for him. This man must have gotten a wrong impression of his reason for visiting. But it was of no consequence; what he thought of it mattered not to him.

* * *

"Do you like it?" the smooth voice came from behind the counter.

"Yes...I do." Not hesitant, and not forced. Still no eye contact. He stared down at the reflection of his shoe against the lacquered wood at the base of the countertop as he sat atop his barstool. She watched him with intent eyes, wondering at the sincerity of his answer.

"You do?"

"Yes," he answered again, his eyes still fixated on the same spot.

"Really? Because I was thinking..."

No movement.

She let a light sigh escape through a knowing smile. "Vincent, are you even paying attention?"

He lifted his eyes to meet hers then. "Yes."

"Oh." She returned his gaze with a blank look, as she was caught off guard.

"You were thinking?"

"Hm? Oh, that. Nothing. I just...honestly, I didn't think you were listening to me."

This time he tilted his head in earnest. "Why would I ignore you?"

"I...I don't know," she stammered. "Maybe you were off in another world." She nearly winced at the end of her remark, but decided not to let him see it. If she hadn't hit a chord she never meant to, the slightest implication in a wince could do it.

Truthfully, he could never ignore her. He rather enjoyed her company. She was his opposite on the surface, but he somehow could never shrug her off as any faceless person. Even if he had been somewhere else in mind, she would be the one to bring him back. "You had me from the very beginning." This brought a smile back to her face as she could see he meant it, and he went back to his preoccupation with the floor. She let out another barely audible sigh, wishing she could hold his attention for more than a moment.

But life is made up of little moments, isn't it? In fact, at just that moment, as Vincent was wondering to himself if Tifa's face would ever become permanently stuck like that from all the sincerity and insincerity she held the capacity for, Orlando called for help from the kitchen. A small smirk crept across Vincent's face as she left to help wonderboy.

And at that precise moment, the phone rang.

Vincent eyed the piece for a minute, unsure of what he should do. The phone stood alone, meaning there was no messaging service or mailbox of any kind. He took a look around, and threw caution to the wind.

"...Tifa's Seventh Heaven." Simple. Satisfactory. There was all that needed to be said in that one line.

"Can I speak to Tifa Lockheart, please?"

Hesitation. "She seems to be somewhat...busy at the moment." He eyed a pad of paper and a pen behind the bar. "I will...take a message for you, if you wish."

"Oh, thank you so much. I really wish I could talk with her in person, but I've got to run."

"...One moment, please."

"But I-"

Vincent couldn't help but notice a young girl with a bouncing red ponytail making her way to the front of the dining room from the back entrance. She carried with her a server's apron, some pens, and a bottled juice. He watched her warily as she took a quick glance around the room, just to see if it was set up correctly. She started when her eyes came to rest on him.

"Gagh! How did you-?" She looked at the front door in alarm to see that it was still bolted. It was. The girl's eyes grew wide in panic, and she grabbed a decorative bottle of coconut liquor from the shelf, ready to break it against one of the tables, sacrificing it as a crude tool with which to save herself. However, she was interrupted by a shout from the back.

"Karlie, would you mind keeping Vincent company until I can get back up there?" Tifa's voice came wafting through the room.

Karlie's eyes darted from the bottle in her hand to Vincent, and then to the kitchen entrance. She eyed him suspiciously still, but she could see no other in the room, so she could only assume that this was Tifa's friend. She berated herself for her harsh greeting after she remembered Tifa telling her of his visit earlier that morning on the phone. She had just never imagined someone so...dark.

Karlie walked forward, a hint of crimson in her cheeks. She extended her hand to Vincent, and he...

He placed the phone in her outstretched palm.

She looked at him like his interpretation of her gesture was ludicrous, but only cracked a smile as a rush of air escaped her chest. She took the phone from him and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"...Miss Lockheart?"

"No, I'm sorry. She's busy right now. Can I take a message?"

Vincent watched as Karlie nodded, her hand writing furiously. The conversation lasted for a decent time, and even when she was done writing, she continued to doodle on the paper while she was talking to the woman. As far as he could gather, Karlie didn't even know the woman, but she could be aquainted with her by the way she was carrying on.

The conversation did come to an end however, and Karlie hung up the phone. She turned around abruptly, spinning on her heels as she did so. "I'm so sorry about earlier. Tifa told me this morning she'd be having a friend by, but I was just so startled..."

Vincent quirked an eyebrow, and let a smirk grace his features. This earned a smile from Karlie, who also didn't seem to be afraid of him at all. Perhaps Tifa had warned them...

"All right!" Tifa came bursting through the kitchen doors, a look on her face that said they were moving on to other things. "So, you two have met?"

Karlie nodded enthusiastically, while Vincent watched. "Is everything okay back there?" the redhead asked.

Tifa nodded. "Yes, but I'm going to have to go to the store." She turned to Vincent. "You can stay or come with me, or do whatever makes you happiest. I wish you wouldn't leave just yet though. I'm sorry I was so busy..."

Vincent shook his head. "I will come."

"Then it's settled!" Tifa exclaimed. "Karlie, will you be all right to open if I'm not back yet?"

Karlie nodded. "I'll be fine. I learned from the best, after all," she finished with a wink in Vincent's direction.

"Well, I'm ready." Tifa headed towards the back. "I'll meet you outside, Vincent. I've got to go get the funds." And with that, she disappeared into the back.

Karlie ripped the first sheet from the fat yellow notepad and handed it to Vincent. It was covered in busy red scrawl, typical of a speedy waitress. "Give that to Tifa, would you?" Karlie then went out towards the tables, examining them and making sure that everything was in order. Vincent took the paper outside with him.

Once outside, he stopped to see if he could decipher the messy writing. There was an address, and a name. It was a Costa del Sol location, and the name...well, the name was something he had never expected.

_...Leilani Valentine?_

Under any other circumstance, he might consider this coincidental. Now, Tifa was not a meddler, and she'd only reunited with him the night before. There was no way that she could have found this person in that short a time. Hell, he himself didn't know her whereabouts. And so it would normally be safe for him to consider this a coincidence. Just another Valentine out there in the world. With the same name.

However...

Thinking back on his brief conversation with the woman on the phone, he could definitely detect a familiar tone in her voice if he tried hard enough. Though it could be his mind playing tricks on him, making him recall what he wanted to. But something else rang true in his head. There was the undeniable fact that Tifa herself had revealed.

She'd been looking all over for him.

A pang of worry settled itself deep in his being. A consistent, reoccuring pang of uncertainty and insecurity. He worried that she might have found something. But what did it matter? She had already found him. If he was right, and the person on the phone really had been who he was now suspecting it to have been, would it really matter? He could just discard of the note...

He stared down at the cobblestone walkway, contemplating the sudden turn of events in his head. The soft singing of the birds above and the warm, unyielding sunlight were so peaceful, such an irritating contrast to the pounding in his chest, that he brought his hand quickly to his head in frustration.

He knew he couldn't discard of it. It was an unjust move on his part, to both parties involved. But then what? He couldn't give it to her. There was no way he could do that; what would come of it? If she went over there, who knows what she would find? And he didn't want to go along; he didn't want to be found, didn't want to go back to his past life.

He made his move.

He took the note, and he folded it into a small envelope, something his oldest sister had taught him as a child. And to think, he had thought it would never be of any use to him. And could she really suspect him of it?

Tifa emerged into the bright sunlight to come and stand beside him. She looked up at him with a smile on her face. "It's a nice day, isn't it?"

"...Yes. Yes it is." Silence. Then, "Karlie told me to give this to you." He handed her the small envelope.

Tifa frowned, then smiled again. "Well, isn't that cute?" She opened it, and read it to herself. He noticed a sudden change in her countenance and watched to see if he could gather any information from her reaction. Instead, she shoved it into her pocket. "Thanks," she said. "Ready?"

He nodded.

No, he wasn't ready. But he would bide his time. He would just have to deal with whatever came of it. Just because she would happen to find a thing or two out didn't mean she would understand. And if she did, would it be so bad?

Well, yes. ...Maybe.

Besides, she might not even go.


	9. Lamenting Leilani

**To Know You**

**Chapter Nine: Lamenting Leilani**

**By Darknightdestiny**

"I'm going now!"

Tifa rushed out from behind the bar, a small bag flung over her shoulder. Vincent sat at the bar, watching her uncomfortably. She was dressed casually, in some worn blue jeans and a tight, white shirt featuring the name of her bar in faded red letters. She had her hair pulled back into a sort of loop, ponytail hybrid. On her feet were white tennis shoes. Easygoing, charming, open. The sort of thing one wears to help a friend move to a new home.

He didn't resent her for prying, but he feared the consequences of her following up on it. He did not lack the desire to rebuild old bridges, but he had his reasons for hesitation, and he wished to do this in his own time. Tifa was easily received everywhere she went, and extremely sweet and likeable. He did not want to reveal to her that he knew anything about her destination, but he feared that she had an agenda. She had already found him, so if she was following up on this, there must be another reason. And the reason at the forefront of his mind, was because Leilani had called her back. And Tifa, being the person she was, would never leave someone in relation to him hanging, or destroy their hopes with a lie. Or an omission, for that matter.

He did not know if Leilani Valentine knew of his whereabouts, but it was not as if he could ask Tifa. He could, in theory, but he would not. Part of him wanted to stop this impending disaster, but another part of him wanted to see it unfold. Besides, she had worked so hard and for so long trying to find him. What could he say to her?

_No, Tifa...you cannot go see my mother._

He would never deny her that, especially when she had spent so much of her time on him. He didn't yet feel worthy of it. He understood he was going to have to start to live his life. He understood he was going to have to let some things go, and try to give himself a brand new start. But at the same time, this didn't have anything to do with his 'sins', as much as he just felt she had spent too much time on him. They had gotten to know each other through their time spent over the Meteor adventure - ordeal was a more correct term - but he didn't think that gave any of them the merit to care for each other so much. But then he realised that Tifa might have done the same for any of them, though most of them would not have done the same for anyone _but_ her.

She definitely had that about her.

Vincent was snapped from his daydreaming by a soft plunking of a box on the bar top next to him. Karlie's green eyes peeked out over the top of the imports to watch Tifa reach the front door of the bar. Vincent's eyes followed hers. Last chance.

"Bye, Tifa! Hope you have a good trip. And don't worry about me, I'll be fine! And Travis will be helping both Orlando and myself, so don't sweat it." She winked at her friend.

Tifa turned back at the door and gave a warm smile to the two of them, though her eyes alighted on Vincent last and seemed to linger there for a moment. She almost looked as if she was reassuring herself that she was doing the right thing.

"Vincent, are you going to hang around the bar, or are you going to find something to do around town?"

"I've not yet decided," he said in blank monotone, not knowing what emotions she would find in his voice had he even let any surface.

"Well...have a nice time, whatever you decide." He nodded. "You too, Karlie," she called to the girl behind the counter. And with that, she was out the door, and out of sight.

Instantly, Vincent was accosted by an eager voice directly to his left. He turned and found the source unbelievably close, and unbelievably suddenly so.

"So. Tell me!"

Vincent searched Karlie's bright green eyes for some sign of motivation, but found no other reason for her inquiry other than that she was a gossipy young girl with no other way to pass the time it took to set up the bar. "...No."

"Oh, come on. Who am I going to tell? You and I just met." Little, green puppy dog eyes, set atop a field of freckles.

Vincent stood up to leave. "You are kind, but no." He turned quietly from the bar, save for the clomping of his heavy black boots on the wooden floor. They clomped their way to the door, and then he was gone, heading in the opposite direction that Tifa had been.

Karlie pouted. Then, as an afterthought, she shouted, "You'll be seeing much more of me!" as the door closed behind him. She smiled to herself as she finished setting up the bar. The next few days should be interesting, and she would enjoy watching what developed of the situation.

Vincent wandered the streets, contemplating his situation. He had rathered Tifa had forgotten all about it. He wondered about her motivations for visiting his mother, and hoped that she wouldn't go too far in her conversations with her. There was apparently no shame in her game. And with that thought, Vincent felt a pang of guilt at his sudden envy.

All that time, and he still hadn't found the nerve to try and contact anyone he used to know. Had Tifa let on to Leilani that he was still alive? And then what? Would she be grateful to know, or angry that he hadn't bothered to talk to her in decades?

Tifa's timidity came and went. He wouldn't think her the type to go barging into other people's lives without proper pretense. Had they talked before? Just how much did either of them already know? Part of him resented her sudden intrusion, and he couldn't even say anything about it without giving himself away. But did it even matter anymore? He contemplated turning on his heels and following after her, telling her all he knew if he must.

And Tifa...sweet, resilient, spirited woman...if he let her alone and disappeared for good, he would never find anything out from her. And she would easily find another life to piece together, another soul to care for. It seemed to come naturally to her, counseling and healing people, and even smothering them with unwanted empathy. She had already forced him into a corner, unknowingly asphyxiating him with a myriad of limited decisions.

Was he so easily replaceable? She had gone to an awful lot of trouble, and he had a feeling that at least part of it was for his own good, though he couldn't deny that her own curiousity must have played a big part. If he dropped off the face of the earth, would she just forget about him and go about her usual business? No, it was quite obvious to him that his absence had taken a decent chunk out of her life, and that she'd put a lot of effort into rectifying that.

He appreciated her interest, but this new situation was far too delicate for her to handle alone. He felt what little control he had over the rest of his life slowly slipping away, disappearing over the horizon with each step she took. Instead of standing there completely helpless while she took his life into her own hands, not able to trust that she wouldn't cause trouble without his interference, his mind was made up.

Meanwhile, Tifa stood by the docks, waiting to board the ship that would take her to Costa del Sol. She turned the small sheet of paper over in her hands, sighing to herself. "If only there was a number to this street," she muttered. "Why do all the roads in the village have to go by names? It's going to take me forever to find this place."

"What place is that?"

Startled, Tifa turned around to find Vincent standing next to her, studying the ship she was about to board.

"Vincent! What are you doing here?"

"...I was thinking that I might be interested in going with you. What sort of business do you have in Costa del Sol?" He seemed only curious, but he was going about it in such a suspiciously sly manner. Tifa had already begun to figure out what he was aware of when he made his move.

In an instant, the paper was snatched out of her grasp, crumpled and slightly torn between the metallic digits of his clawed arm. She gasped in surprise.

"I just remembered," he went on, holding up the crumpled paper for examination, "that I have relations over there." He knew he wasn't going about the situation too delicately, but flustered as he was, he couldn't think of any other way to go about it. He raised one eyebrow in her direction, a small smirk playing at his lips. "But...I am sure you already know that."

Tifa blushed red, stuttering in her response. "Vincent, I...I'm sorry. If you'll just...let me explain..."

He gave an exasperated sigh and handed the paper back to her. "No need," he replied, holding his other hand up. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked at her feet, childishly digging a hole in the soil with her toe. "I didn't know how to. I mean...I found her while looking for you. But once I found you, I didn't need to ask around. Then she called back, and I didn't know what to do with this paper. So I figured..."

He tilted his head to the side, beginning to wonder exactly how far her curiousity would take her, and why it was focused on him. "...Figured what?" he prodded.

"I don't know. I thought..."

"Yes?"

"...I thought that I could get to know you better. I was going to tell you. I really, really was..."

Tifa's eyes were beginning to well up, and Vincent began to wonder whether he had made the right decision. But if he really took the time to sort it out point by point as he had earlier, he would have come to the same conclusion. He could not let this go wrong.

"Tifa." She ran up and hugged him. "Tifa..." There wasn't much else that he could do but put his arms around her. He began fearing that others would stare, but the dock wasn't crowded that day, and hardly anyone nearby seemed to be interested in what was going on. "Let me come with you?"

"You must think I'm terribly nosy." Her words were tiny, muffled against his shirt.

"You are." He grimaced down at her as she began to sob harder into his clothing. "But if you weren't, we wouldn't be here right now." He sighed, thinking he might regret his words later, but continued on either way. "You obviously care a great deal about whatever agenda it is you have."

"I'm sorry..." she sniffled, grabbing at the fabric of his clothes, trying to hide her eyes behind the creases of material.

Vincent righted himself and held her out in front of him at arms length. "We'll put this behind us. Dry your eyes..." He reached out and slid a finger underneath her lower lid, unthinking, which started her wiping furiously at them herself, embarrassed at her display.

As the blurriness began to fade and she regained her focus, Tifa noticed a few people walking past to board the ship. "I guess we can go now," she said. "Are you sure you want to come?"

"I'm not letting you go alone."

She bit back the hurt. "What do you think I would do?" She stared him in the eye, but was overcome by his constant gaze. "...We don't have to do this today, if you don't want to."

Vincent mulled it over. He was given far too much time in which to make that decision, and yet it took another person holding it in front of him to force him to decide. He could have gone at any time to see his mother, but had always thought it too much for her, too unbelievable. He wanted nothing from his mother, but perhaps to see her one last time. With every day that passed, he knew his chances were lessened.

"We should go."

Vincent turned on his heel and walked toward the plank, Tifa following quickly after him once she had regained herself. Up the wooden ramp, and he could hear the soft echoes of her footsteps behind him. "You know, there's no turning back, Vincent." She was suddenly at his ear.

"...I apologize, Tifa. I did not mean to make you cry." Then he added, almost as an aside, "You know, you seem to harbor more anticipation about this than I do."

"Oh, I'm not pretending that I'm not scared. This isn't _my_ family. There's no way I could know what she would ask me, or how I would answer it. I'm actually really glad you came to save me." She had begun to smile again.

At this thought, Vincent cringed inside. Perhaps he would tell her that he would rather wait outside. But what warning could he possibly give her upon entering his mother's house that would prevent her from making matters worse? And now it seemed if he sent her in there all alone, that he would be feeding her to the wolves. It appeared that neither one of them had a plan.

He sat down on one of the benches inside the boat, and she sat down comfortably next to him. "She expects you?" Tifa nodded in reply. Vincent didn't bother to ask her whether this was because she had returned the call, or if it had already been arranged. Either way, his mother was expecting someone. He could just picture the reunion, and with it situated in the forefront of his mind, he was beginning to feel sick.

"Vincent, what was growing up like for you?"

The question took him by surprise, but it was not at all unrelated to the events of the day. It was one he would rather not answer, and something he didn't wish to think about. "Maybe one day I will tell you." Not likely, but perhaps. He hoped she wouldn't push any further.

How could he ever tell her that he was everything to his mother, when she knew that he'd never bothered to go and see her? How could he ever explain to Tifa that he spent every moment he could afford at home, waiting to see what drunken state his Turk father arrived in, so he could take measures to protect his mother? That he had been forced into his occupation as reimbursement for his father's life, which he had taken? He hadn't even told Lucrecia about that. He and his mother had lived very isolated lives, even when his father was still around. He imagined her then, growing old in that house all alone, with no one to talk to, wondering what had happened to her son.

Tifa gazed up at him, studying the blank look he had pointed out the window. She wondered what he was thinking, but thought that she had asked too many questions that day already. She would get a good idea of where he had come from just by seeing the inside of his house, so there was no need to push him in a direction he wasn't ready to travel in.

His eyes darted over in her direction, catching her in her contemplative state. She suddenly switched roles on him, staring out the window herself and hoping that he hadn't seen her staring at him like that, but he had. She had been musing over him far too much as of late. One day it was bound to get her into trouble.

They sighed in unison, Vincent mentally, and Tifa out loud. It was going to be a long and uncomfortable trip if neither one of them had anything to say to each other. She had a million aching questions, and she felt that each one would be a sore spot for him. She had begun to wish that she'd been able to convince him all along to go and see his mother alone.

When they finally reached the shore, it was early afternoon. Tifa paused after exiting the ship; she looked around, taking in the view. The sun up high and the salt in the air kissed her skin and made her feel oh so warm inside. Vincent, on the other hand, brushed right past her. Tifa enjoyed her time outdoors, no matter where she was, but it was clear to her that Vincent was adamant about getting on with their business.

"Vincent-!" she choked out. "I know you're not one for sun, but I figured this would be more of an experience for you..."

He stopped several feet in front of her and waited for her to catch up. The truth was that he had never liked that town. Everyone was so perpetually happy and carefree, and after everything that he had been through, living in a never-ending vacation spot had made his stomach turn, even as a child.

"What can I say, Tifa? Let's hurry on. You can spend as much time out here as you wish when this is all over." He continued walking as soon as she had reached him, not pausing even long enough to let her match his pace. Barely even luke-warm yet and already, he had become cold as ice.

Tifa followed him through the brush, past the tiki huts and oversized martini glasses, past the street peddlers and performers. Vincent led them down the side of one building, and then along a dirt road. Tifa noticed that the neighborhood became much more domestic as they kept walking, and the sound of steel drums was reduced to a faint hum in her ears.

The most present sound in her world was the clicking of Vincent's boots against the stone walkway they mounted, and the breeze ruffling her hair. She looked up at him, curiousity searing through her expression. She kept her gaze on him long enough, wrapped up in her imaginative thoughts on his past, that when he did finally glance at her, he caught it.

"...When are you going to open up to me?"

They both kept walking as Vincent let her question sink in. Moments later, his reply came with a slight frown. "I suppose an apology is in order...?"

"Eh?"

He sighed. "Today has been...irritating, to say the least." Her gaze fell to the ground they walked on. "But," he continued, in an effort not to make things worse, "I should not have been so cold."

"I'm sorry for meddling," she offered. "Now that we're here, though, I thought you'd be excited."

He actually scoffed slightly, as the side of his mouth tugged upward. "I hate this place."

Tifa couldn't help but note that the use of his smirk was growing. She would have thought it progress, since it was close to a smile, but in this case, she didn't deem it good just yet. "Why do you hate it?"

"Memories." It was a simple answer, and it didn't divulge any sort of details. This did not slip past her.

"This is what I'm talking about," she said, trying not to look too terribly disappointed, which was difficult, being that she was. "You answer my questions, but not really. You're so vague. If I want to know anything, I have to badger you, which I know you also hate."

She had hit it right on the head, but he wasn't going to go into a deep conversation about it. "Perhaps you shouldn't ask so many questions, and you wouldn't frustrate yourself so."

She halted in her step and placed one hand on her hip. He hadn't exactly pointed the finger, but she still wasn't going to fall for his game of passing the blame around. She silently thought to herself that this was typical male manipulation, and she could have sworn up and down that most of them weren't even aware that they did it. "Vincent, you're the frustrating one! If I didn't ask you questions, it's not as if you'd volunteer information on your own anyway!" If they'd been in the privacy of her apartment, or maybe even the bar, she would have pounded her fists on a table in frustration, and even bit back some tears. This is not something that escaped Vincent, who was well aware of her frustration and her effort. He turned to face her in the street.

"Tifa," he sighed, "this is not the time or the place." His expression was almost pleading, and she lost her reserve.

It wasn't as if he had no desire to deepen his friendship with her. He realized that he was mostly alone in the world, and the fact that he was surprised to hear that his mother was still around proved it. If anything, Tifa would have been first on his list should he ever need a companion, but he had so many thoughts whirling around in his head that most of this was shoved back into the recesses of his mind to make room for his old, irritable self.

He needed time, and she needed his time, and the one thing he felt he couldn't do at that moment was make that time. His mind was far too busy.

It had been a long time since he was that strung out on nervousness, and he still wasn't sure how he was going to handle himself. He didn't have a plan, he wasn't expected, and the last thing he wanted to do was give his mother a heart attack. And yet, she was still with him, even though he had pushed her aside and dashed her careful planning. She followed him obediently, not minding the change in plan at all, and not seeming a bit worried. Still, he knew this wasn't because she would let the burden fall completely on him.

She was always there when he needed her, or at least when she felt he did, and she had been ever since he'd known her. He was beginning to grow quite fond of her, and the last thing he wanted to do was put her off. This too, was one of the many problems floating around in his head.

Tifa kept walking in silence, not paying any mind to where they were headed. It was easier to follow a man dressed entirely in black on a hot day in paradise if she chose not to be distracted by the scenery. She remained unaware and in her own world entirely, until she bumped into him at his sudden stop. When she backed up, she could see that they were on a doorstep, and she moved around to stand next to him.

Had she not been downcast, she might have missed the flowers littering the entryway and stepped on them. However, she did see them, and gazed up at Vincent in curiousity.

These were not the welcoming sort of flower; rather than arranged neatly in a bed, these were littered about the doormat, as though placed by several people. She could tell by the freshness of some and the deadening of others, that their givings had been spread out over the week. Her imagination began to get the best of her, and her heart began to ache for him when she saw a flash of panic wash over him and then dissipate, as if he had never been allowed to lose face for more than a moment in his life.

"Come to pay your respects, eh?" The two of them whirled around to see one of Leilani's neighbors sitting out on his porch, motioning to her own. "It's a shame, really. Nice lady."

An awkward silence followed, during which a certain memory was burned into the back of Tifa's mind. She would never forget the way that Vincent looked when he heard the news that his mother had died. They had been so close; Tifa had just spoken with her a week before. She knew his hopes were ruined, and he had only been a few steps away from a reunion with the only other Valentine she had managed to find that was even related to him.

The man went inside his home, not bothering to say anything to the two of them. Vincent knocked on the door anyway.

Tifa reached up to grace his arm with her touch. "Vincent...?"

He was in another world, and she could see in his face that his mind was racing. "He might have been talking about someone else..."

"Vincent..."

Tifa was jerked back to reality when Vincent reached back with his claw and thrust his arm through the door, splintering the wood and undoing the locks from the other side. She jumped at his reaction, and she covered her mouth as she began to cry. Vincent ran into the house, searching every room and calling for his mother. Tifa could only watch from the doorway and she cried harder, seeing him reduced to this in only minutes. In that moment, she feared for him. She feared for his heart, for his sanity, for everything he'd become and everything he might lose. She cursed herself for letting him get his hopes up, for messing with his life.

She followed the frantic sounds of his voice upstairs where they quieted after a while, and she listened to his heavy breathing down the hallway. Slowly, she entered the room where he sat at the foot of what she assumed to be his mother's bed. The sheets were littered with neatly arranged items of personal belonging, probably heirlooms set out by her family. He was slumped on the floor, his dark bangs a curtain for his face, a barrier to her, and to the rest of the world. His elbows were propped up on his knees, hands dangling helplessly between his legs. He looked the epitome of misery, and she could have sworn she heard a hitch in his breath, like a meager attempt to break the walls he himself had set up so long ago to shed a tear, if only for his mother.

Tifa approached cautiously, not wanting to forget her place. At her steps, he looked up at her, not bothering to hide the fact that the whites of his eyes had also turned red. She came and knelt down beside him, and he didn't tense, even when she fit her arms around him and leaned her head against his. Instead his body offered up an involuntary shudder, something like surrender, wracked with emotion that had built up for ages. Thousands of memories came back to haunt him, some so terrible and some so heartwarming that he grieved his mother's loss over and over again.

Tifa just stayed by him and held him when the tears came, and she cried with him, never letting go even when his shaking had stopped. She didn't know how many different reasons he had for letting loose just then, but she had found two of her own. She cried for him, what he had lost, and even for her own helplessness in the situation. She cried for him as a friend should cry with his friends, and be there with them through all things. But there was a new part of her that ached for him, a place in her heart she had yet to give voice to.

She had spent enough time outside berating him for not being open enough, and yet when it finally happened, she was almost unable to bear it. But she would bear it with him, because she wanted to be there with him; she didn't want to leave him alone, especially in the time he needed her the most, whether he would ever admit it or not. His not pushing her away was good enough for her. Even then, she felt his arms come up to return the embrace, and he clung desperately to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Tifa looked on helplessly, unable to do anything but offer comfort, as the man she had begun to love fell apart before her eyes. And it was tearing her into pieces.

* * *

**A/N:** I realize Vincent seems out of character near the end of this, but hell, his mother just died. Check out my piece, "Peripheral Vision," if you like Vin/Tif pairings. Right now, it's a one-shot, but as I finish this and get ready to post the third part (a one-shot that may go with this, but could also stand alone), I will be adding chapters to "Peripheral Vision", and changing it's status from complete to in progress. It should be between four and six chapters.

I'm trying to decide whether I should try to salvage "Flirting with Death" or not. If I do, I may have to revamp the entire thing, or make small adjustments as I go along, because my style has changed considerably. You can probably even tell where I left off in this chapter a year ago and where I picked it up. It was so long since I'd updated this one, that I almost didn't finish it. But with only two more chapters to go, I figure I can still do this yet.

Ah yes. I am also working on more for "Countdown to Chaos", and those will be posted soon as well. That will most likely be my main project for a while, and I will be doing "Peripheral Vision" alongside it, though the shorter will not last nearly as long.


	10. Malleable Morning

**To Know You**

**Chapter Ten: Malleable Morning**

**By Rachel "D" Winslow**

"You'll go, won't you?" The words broke the silence and seemed to permeate the very walls of the room.

Vincent looked down at the warm body cradled in his arms, her deep brown eyes staring up at him awaiting his answer. He idly let his hand fall over her hair as he thought it over. It shouldn't do him any harm; he could stay in the shadows for as long as he pleased.

"...I'll go." He managed a soft whisper.

It was early morning and still dark outside. The rain continued to beat down harshly on the windows of the apartment; inside, the two of them sat very still, listening to the sounds of the earth as it mourned the loss of another soul.

They had stayed that way for hours, she curled up in his lap with her arms hung around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder as if to say, "I'm here," and he simply holding her there, staring blankly at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. She certainly hadn't felt like taking him up on his offer of time spent at the water's edge after the day had gone so horribly wrong. Neither one of them had gotten any sleep that night, and neither one of them was about to shift position and break their awkward embrace. It was a welcome contact that both of them needed, a rarity they were unwilling to compromise.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into his shoulder, not looking at him for fear that his gaze would weaken her confession. "I feel like..." she began with fresh tears, "...like I took something from you that I can never give back." She cut herself off before she lost control, shaking in his arms.

"Shhh." He squeezed her gently, and she felt even worse. Why should he offer her comfort when he was the one who had lost? "We both know," he continued quietly, still searching the empty white space above them, "that if you had asked me to, I wouldn't have gone."

She shifted in his arms, turning to face him. "But you did go. Why did you come after me?"

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting it escape him through his nose. "You had intentions of your own." He paused for a moment. "I suppose it was fear," he freely admitted, after gathering the words.

"I guess I put you in a bad position." Tifa's eyes began to sting, and she ducked back into Vincent's shirt.

He sighed, feeling his nerves begin to let go in the nearly imperceivable shudders that left him with his breath. "You did...but it's over now." He gathered her to himself tightly, still not quite his usual self.

"Vincent..." Tifa offered, "I'm really glad you were with me today."

His head fell forward to rest on hers. "What would you have done had I not been there?"

She couldn't be sure if it was curiousity or accusation. "I don't really know," she sighed. "...Would you want to know?"

"I don't think it really matters." She felt his chin working against her skull, and she was grateful for his contact and warmth, even if it would only last for so long. "It's not something you would have kept from me." He smiled faintly. "I know that much at least."

"It would have been really hard." Her eyes trailed the folds in his pants against the couch, and she absent-mindedly lost her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. "I'm glad you were there."

"So am I."

She almost could have fallen asleep then, in his arms, satisfied with his admission. Her eyes flicked to the garbage bag lying by the couch. He'd not been sure about it, but she'd convinced him it was all right; anything that had to do with his childhood, that only he and his mother would have shared, he could take. It was best, they decided, that he find what was meaningful to him before it was cleared out; he didn't have anything else by which to remember her.

His choices had been odd, but they were things that his other relatives could have certainly done without. Among them a rolling pin, a baby pillow, and a card he had made for her when he was ten. Things that held a certain significance to him alone, that others wouldn't be able to appreciate like he did.

Not a monster at all.

Curled into his body, she hoped her presence gave him some comfort. She also hoped he had meant what he said about being glad he had been there. She knew he probably felt guilty for never taking the time to visit his mother before. If his past behavior was any indication, it would haunt him for a very long time if he never made peace with it.

"Vincent...?"

Silence, then something. "Yes?"

"You must have been close to your mother..." Tactless perhaps, but she couldn't help but take joy in the fact that his heart was indeed reddened flesh, and not black or made of stone. She'd known it all along, but she had her proof laid out for her, and there was no longer any way that he could deny it.

Perhaps not the best time to begin that conversation, but it was a relevant moment, and he had to appreciate that. There was really no way to know when it would be appropriate to ask him that question, but it was a fair one, and though he didn't owe it to her, he decided that he would divulge a little of himself to her. He hadn't been himself all night, and it seemed much better to him to get it out of his system at once before he changed his mind.

"...I suppose so." She was always so kind to him, and he never resented her for being weak. He had tried to be her hero, tried to save her from the man she loved. In the end, the inevitable consequences had made his life a living hell. Not unlike another scenario, much later in his life.

He honestly had forgotten for a while. Then, when he and Tifa had left the room in the evening, he had spotted an old thimble on the edge of her dresser. He'd muttered something about skillful old hands, and then the memories had come.

He remembered helping his mother with dinner when he was small; he remembered her teaching him cursive. He remembered late night talks with her and the wisdom she imparted to him. He remembered never being able to give back enough, never feeling like he could ever repay her for all she'd gone through to keep him safe and well. She'd always been there for him, no matter what the circumstances were. Yes, they had been close; though it had seemed like there hadn't been time to feel it, if he thought back hard enough, he could remember the moments that had mattered. The thimble he'd taken too. She'd loved him so much.

"...What about your father? What happened to him?"

He remembered broken bottles and hiding in the closet, loud screams and muffled cries on the weekends his father did bother to come home. He remembered seeing his mother, bloody and beaten time and time again, and swearing that he would find a way to end her suffering. He'd hated him just as much.

He had to admire her; she was a strong woman.

Vincent sighed and let his head fall to rest on the back of the couch. Clenched his fist for a moment, and then released it slowly. Tifa sat up and watched him, waiting for something more. How would he ever explain it to her?

"My father died long before my mother."

"...Before you went to sleep?" Silence. It was easier to refer to the years he had spent locked away from the world as time spent sleeping, rather than doling out rash comments such as when he 'went in the box', giving off such impressions as he was some tired marionette. Pincushion was far closer to the truth, but she was unaware of the extent to that truth.

"Before I was a Turk." It was a very long time ago, the beginning of why he became everything he did, the very first step in his long road to hell and suffering. In that moment, he could almost blame his father for passing the guilt and the torment onto him. But if it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else in his place. Better to take responsibility for his own particulars than to try to hold a grudge against the man who merely put him in position, set him up for the fall. Each step that led him closer was really a decision of his own making.

"What happened?"

"I killed him."

Abrupt, almost as if he was trying to cut her off. He could barely believe he'd said it when it was out, hadn't hesitated at all when it came to admitting the truth. He dared to glance at the girl who had wriggled around completely in his arms; she had tilted her head towards him and was staring at him with contemplation beneath her tired eyes. He knew she expected that he meant he had killed him in the same way he had always said he'd killed Lucrecia, and was responsible for Sephiroth. All indirect results, riddling him with guilty confessions and a desperate need for atonement. As if she didn't believe he was capable of truly murdering someone in cold blood. But he'd done it many times; the difference lied in the fact that he'd been cold and detached when he was on the job. But when he'd killed his father, he had done it with hatred in his heart, and it was a lingering hatred that had never really gone away.

"You killed him," she repeated, almost like an animatron.

"It's a long story..." Much longer, in fact, than he would be willing to elaborate on.

She assumed he wouldn't be willing to tell her, sure that she already knew what it was going to detail; he not being there at the right time, not doing something he should have, indirectly causing guilt to him for some accidental death. "I'm not going to sleep anytime soon," she simply put.

He had wanted to stay quiet at that time, wanted nothing more than to sit in the dark and be selfish that morning. He had wanted to use up the whole of his opportunity to be comforted by her warmth and her soothing voice, and never let on to her how much he was beginning to enjoy her presence, never tell her how appreciated it was at that moment when he was most vulnerable. He was excused for being numb, and even then he was excused for being the very opposite. Part of him just wanted to talk to her, and let everything go; if there was one person in the entire world that he could talk to and trust to never bring the same conversation up again if he wished it that way, it was Tifa. That night he had deviated from his set ways, the persona that others had come to expect of him, and it seemed there was no use in arguing that the time was not as right as it ever would be.

He breathed in deeply, trying to let go of his anticipation as he prepared himself for her reaction. The noise alone had her attention, though her gaze hadn't left him yet. "...He hit her." A pause, and an expression crossed his face that told he was trying to gather his thoughts. "A lot."

Tifa slid down to the floor so that she could face him. Vincent was becoming so lost in his thoughts that he didn't protest, and his memories became distraction enough that he could easily avoid looking into her eyes as she sat there. She leaned one elbow up on the seat as she sat with her legs tucked behind her, her face dangerously close to his knee; this he didn't notice, and if he had found the time to be uncomfortable, he still wouldn't have cared much.

"She didn't deserve it...no one does," he was careful to add to that, knowing he could come off sounding like some did, while others didn't. "He was a drunken waste of life." A bitterness permeated his words as he spoke, and she could feel the reserve of hate he held for the man. "He was out all the time, doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who, coming home at all hours of the morning, smelling like drink and beating on her." He took a minute to get himself together, and Tifa waited patiently. "He was a Turk." And his eyes finally did meet hers, as if she was supposed to understand some hidden implication.

She mulled it over for a moment. "But...why did you become a Turk? From what it sounds like..." and she tried to choose her words carefully, "you would want to be anything but the same man as your father." She all but winced at the words, and she was unsure of how they would be received. But Vincent, too tired and too resigned from the day's events, was forgiving, understanding. He brushed away the words, knowing that she wouldn't have known a single way to make her point otherwise.

He even smiled slightly, bitterly. "I was fifteen when I shot him. He was buried in the backyard for a few days...until they came looking for him." Vincent continued to unravel the gruesome details of his first murder, wondering at himself even then; how he was able to drag his father's bloodened corpse past his mother's crying, huddled form without so much as batting an eye, he only assumed was what had given him the first hardening of his heart that had enabled him to do as much killing as he had. "I had saved her..."

"Vincent..."

"But I also brought her a lot of heartache. When they came, they simply told me that I would be wearing his suit from then on."

"So really..." she said with understanding, "she lost both the men in her life." She leant her head against his knee, reminding herself that his body was warm. It helped reconcile him with the image she had always held of him, and made her forget what vague stories she had heard, claims that he'd been such a cold-hearted killer. Wistfully, she added, "You were only fifteen..."

"I wasn't like him." It sounded like he was trying to convice her, but part of him knew he was still convincing himself after all those years. "I resigned myself to the fact that I was never getting out after a time, but I did my job grudgingly, never gave into the lifestyle they held..."

Tifa only offered a sad smile as he pushed himself back into silence. After a time, he was absently stroking the hair by her temple. Neither one of them had noticed when it started, but she didn't mind, and he never quite seemed aware that he was even doing so.

"It was a terrible, isolated life..."

"You blame him, don't you?" Her left hand came up and rested on his thigh, but he didn't shrink away from the gesture. Instead he sighed, letting his hand drop from her hair to rest lifelessly on the couch.

"I always resented him...my mother was always alone, even when he was there. Even when I was there..." his head fell back, and he stared at the ceiling some more. "It got easier with time...my duties were the embodiment of why I resented him...and it was so much easier...killing with resentment towards him, and then towards myself. I pictured him...before long I was killing myself."

Jumbled, ragged words from him, but she understood him well. Soon, she had climbed back into his lap and lain her head next to his. Stunned into silence again, he waited hours before he spoke even a single word again, and when he finally did later on that day, he wouldn't be able to help himself in asking her if she thought him terrible before muttering something about how he was going to burn in hell.

"Vincent..." Silence. "Would you want something to drink?"

She only felt him nod against her head, and that was enough for her. It seemed his spirit had ended its restlessness, or at least what it was willing to show of it. She was sure there was plenty working at his heart, deep beneath the surface of his skin, more than just what he had needed to get out right at that moment. But she knew she would have to wait for another day. She wondered, at times, whether his demons were the only facet of his being that altered his candidness and the rest of his demeanor. It seemed that he was often ruled by opposing desires, internal conflicts that never seemed to be resolved. Sometimes so predictable and at other times so uncharacteristic, and he seemed even less stable as of late. Perhaps the demons she had seen were not the only ones he was forced to deal with.


	11. Epilogue

**To Know You**

**Epilogue**

**By Rachel "D" Winslow**

It was most definitely the rosaries that had given it away.

Looking at her old friend, a man whom had become almost an obsession to her as of late, she had to feel a twinge of sympathy. Indeed, it was mixed with wonder, confusion, and even a sort of admiration. But most of all, she felt that there were things she was beginning to understand about him that she knew would take a lifetime to fully come to appreciate.

It was in that moment, when she had entered the house behind him, that she had realized not only what type of experiences had shaped his life, but exactly what light they had been cast in. It was only when she was caught up in avoiding the other guests milling about, that she had noticed so many of the objects in the house for the very first time.

She had been so focused on him before, and there had been such a lack of light in the house. How she'd missed it, she couldn't be sure. Her mind must have been so caught up in what he was thinking, what he was feeling, what she was thinking and feeling for him, that she hadn't really taken notice of anything else in the house.

Votives, candles and statues alike. A crucifix, above the mantle, the centerpiece of the room. And she had seen all the varied rosaries that Leilani's guests had worn. Had it not been for them, she might have wondered if it was only his mother. Apparently, it ran deep in his family.

Had those even been there before?

She had come to be his distraction, his shield, and his comfort among people he had hoped wouldn't recognize him. True, many of them hadn't seen him since he was small enough to hold, since his father had kept them in isolation from her family. But he accepted it as a risk, and she was willing to go along with him. She was actually more than happy to be able to see a part of his life that he had kept so hidden, so protected. She felt almost honored.

And though the event was supposed to be a solemn observance, she couldn't help but be excited and horrified at the same time.

She had begun to understand what drove him to guilt, to atonement, to a most unhealthy obsession with his own misery, and she felt a rising ache in her chest. He was human in a most extreme way, beautiful in his feeble attempts to correct his faults, and yet, it was those faults that made him human. Such a paradox, and so painful watching him, as he held desperately to the sins he would inevitably have to let go altogether if he ever wanted to live.

It was apparent to her that she had been right about his demons. He was plagued with not only four, but perhaps even thousands of them; In his world, his hate, his self-loathing, his resignation to his stagnant apathetic state, his temper, his coldness and indifference, and all of his many other sins were all demons in themselves. In his world, hell was a real place that he was most assuredly going to. She began to see, when the entire picture was assembled before her, what colors his nightmares must truly take on.

The two of them lingered in the back of the room, away from personal contact with anyone who might ask how they had known Leilani, offering condolences or even expecting them. Tifa hadn't found it as difficult, being that she really didn't know anyone there, but she could almost see the lonely need in Vincent's eyes when he recognized someone he had once known. At least, she liked to think it was there, liked to think she had really seen such a thing. She could have sworn by the moment he had placed a face, but she may have been fooling herself. So like her lately, to find delight in his humanity.

He had been brave, showing up, and she let him know in more ways than one that she was proud of him for it. Though he had risked running into his sisters, he would later tell her that none of them had been there. They had all been much older than he, and had been out of the house by the time his dad had taken that awful job and lost what humanity he'd had left. Vincent didn't know what had become of any of them.

She had never taken pleasure in his pain, never enjoyed seeing him cry. But she had been relieved, even comforted, by the idea that there was much more to him than he let on, and that she was finally able to read him somewhat. Once she had begun to understand his motivations and his fears, she found it much easier to interpret his actions and his expressions.

Tifa had never seen Vincent as the bitter, resentful, hateful demon that he thought he was. Even when he'd told her that he'd killed his own father, she had already formed a string of words in her mind to bring to his defense. Living with his father must have been horrible, she imagined, for him to do such a thing. Because Vincent would never...ever...

But he maintained that he was not the same person back then as the Vincent she knew and wanted to be close to. She could see even then that he was continually changing every day, especially with such a sudden upheaval in his life as his mother's death. And it seemed that she couldn't help herself from twisting at the roots that held him above ground, pruning away at him and building him back up. They were small steps to her, but for him, there went his whole world.

Maybe he had been another man, another time. But she saw who he was, and had been, to her. How could she not forgive him? Hadn't that always been a big part of everything she was seeing around her at that very moment? Why couldn't he see that?

Of course, she had no right to forgive him for things that didn't affect her. There was no way that she could, no way for her to understand the weight of what he had done, not being on the receiving end of it. How could she absolve him for things she hadn't felt the full force of? She had no right; it wasn't hers to give.

Not quite innocent, but definitely no demon, she was sure. And she was convinced that he needed comfort, understanding and guidance more than anyone she'd known. He would be the least likely to accept it, and yet she needed him to. She needed him to not let it go to waste, because of all people, she was sure it would be least wasted on him. At least that was how it should be. Oh, irony.

And she'd wanted to know him so very badly, yet there were things she could never be made sure of. There were the matters of the heart, concealed thoughts that no one but he would ever know. He thought himself terrible for a reason, and perhaps he had harbored ill intentions, terrible thoughts toward innocents. The way he'd paraded around like a demon, one would think he'd jump to kill a man for the way he looked at him.

Maybe he would. But Vincent had told her once that ever since he'd been living with four demons in his head, he'd found it hard sometimes to tell the difference between their voices and his own inner workings. It might be easy sometimes, for him to get confused, to not know which thoughts really were his own. Perhaps he carried guilt for merely the opportunity of transgression; perhaps he took some sins as his own, when they did not belong to him after all.

Such a burden. And she felt the need to hold him again, was want to comfort him even when he would have denied needing it in the first place. So much inside of him, begging for release. She knew that the most recent days had only been the tip of the iceberg. There was so much more that she wanted to draw out, slowly, though it would inevitably cause him a world of pain. As if he needed any more pain in his life.

Like a bandaid. It had to be ripped off sometime, even redressed, but the cuts had to be allowed to breathe. Otherwise, how could he ever finish healing?

She watched him closely as the eulogy was given; he silently mouthed the words that were commonly spoken - such eloquent words - but they meant so much more to her then. She hadn't had a funeral for her own father; when she'd woken up she was in the back of a wagon, in the middle of a convoy, merchants on their way to Midgar. She couldn't be sure what had become of his body, and she hadn't even gotten to say goodbye...

She was happy that he'd gotten his chance to see her one last time, even if it had been over the boundary of space and time, from one world to another. At least he had known. And she had been grateful to be the one to stand by him through it all; she would continue to stand by him for as long as he wished.

She'd always believed in a happy ending for herself. Not because she was special, or because she deserved it, but just because she always had. No matter how many trials life had thrown her, she had always had a feeling that somehow, it would all work out in the end. And she was so sure that if she could touch him in some way, then he might have a happy ending, too.

Because if she invested enough in him, then fate couldn't deny her that.

When the ceremony was over, the two of them had left abruptly. Vincent had known about his mother's secret will; it was her way of protecting him from his father, should anything happen to her. It was a feeble attempt, nothing he couldn't have used his rubbing elbows with the rich to get around, but Vincent had appreciated the gesture. He knew he had a great deal coming to him, but he couldn't care less. He had all he needed; better to let someone less fortunate take care of her estate. They all thought him dead, and he didn't plan on sticking around long enough to show them that his corpse could still walk.

He'd paid his respects and gathered his memories; he held on to those that were good, and the others...

They could divvy up the rest and liquidate it for all he cared. He had no need for a table with a broken leg, linens that had long past had the blood soaked out of them, or her wedding band. The others could have them.

Though his expression was grim, he was nearly ecstatic to find that her hands were bare in that coffin. But around her neck, she wore the locket he had given her for her birthday years ago as a small boy, a picture of herself in the one side and him as a baby in the other. He'd saved for so long to buy it, and he'd eventually had to give up his job for fear of her being left alone. It was probably the nicest thing he had ever gotten her that hadn't been paid for with blood money. But he knew she'd rather have his kisses and home-made cards any day. It meant so much to him that she'd kept it around her neck all that time, and it would stay there until it was the only thing left in the box.

Vincent, her only son, her pride and joy.

And he felt so badly that he had waited to see her.

But he'd held on to the best of things, and let go of the worst, and it was something Tifa hadn't missed. Still, she knew he was beating himself up inside.

Vincent had been working himself through a sort of purgatory. He had spent so much time trying to atone for his sins, and even still, it didn't seem like he'd ever forgive himself. She remembered that night in her apartment, when he'd told her that if he must live, then he must not loathe it. It had spoken to her of moving on, of starting a new life. But perhaps it had been more out of resignation, knowing that there was nothing else he could do.

Good enough to see him moving on, but depressing to think that the only way to get him to do it would be to take away all of his other options.

Perhaps he was a man of religion. But was he a man of faith?

They made their way to the beach; the ship was already there and loading passengers. Vincent boarded the vessel, his expression blank, but she was staring at his eyes as she shuffled in behind him. Every time his head moved to the side, she could see one of his bright red eyes, then the other as he turned again. It might have been the sun, but she could have sworn that they were glinting.

It certainly wasn't the simple nature of his irises that had her thinking so; that day they had seemed dim, glazed over. As she sat down next to him on the bench, she wondered if it was a very bad time for a heart to heart.

She let him be for the moment. He was fitful, restless. His elbow came up to rest on the half-inch thick windowsill behind them as he mussed his own hair; he quickly gave up on trying to gain any support from the tiny ledge, and his hand sunk down to rest on his knee. He crossed his legs, then he uncrossed them. His ankle went to rest on his knee, but then he put his foot down. Finally he scooted far enough to the front of the bench that he could rest his back against the wall, and he would have fallen off if he was any closer to the edge; his legs were still tensed, as if he were using his feet as a brace to keep himself seated.

His head tilted slightly upward, he stared across the cabin at the vast expanse of water through the window on the other side. His eyes indicated that he was visiting another time, another world. Black slacks, black shoes, black shirt and trenchcoat, and pale as death itself; he was a stark contrast to the scene that surrounded him. But eventually, he shifted slightly, and she found those eyes looking back at her.

She studied him for a moment, and he let her have the time. He didn't seem to be returning the appraisal; he wasn't searching or impatient, or even curious. Simply looking into her, but saying more with his eyes than he was trying to gather from hers, and yet she wasn't quite sure what it was he was trying to convey.

She tried to paste on a smile. "Can I ask you something?"

He gave a faint nod and his eyes closed for a moment before he cast his gaze upon the floor in front of him, his arms crossed.

"...What do you believe in?"

Vincent's brow lifted a little, and he opened his mouth to speak, but he found himself shutting it again.

"I mean, you're kind of religious, right?"

She heard a slight huff escape his nose. "...You noticed." A corner of his mouth was tucked up into a wry smirk.

"Do you really believe in it, though?"

He paused. "I'm not quite sure I get you..."

"Really?" She bit her lip. She hadn't intended for it to sound like she was belittling him, or accusing him of anything. She only wanted him to _see_.

He lifted an eyebrow in her direction. "Not completely. Explain."

She took a deep breath, trying to sort out her words. "I guess what I mean is..." Started over. "Okay." She sighed and rubbed her hands against her knees. "Do you put your faith in the principle? In the words?"

Vincent leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands met flat against each other without a sound, and he held them in front of his face. "I didn't realize you were an expert." His eyes rose from the floor to meet her, and then they stared straight ahead.

Tifa shook her head. "I've been watching you, Vincent. I've been watching you try over and over again to make up for your sins. Don't you get tired of trying to work your way out of damnation?"

He sighed, realizing he was in for the long haul. "...You of all people should know how weary I am."

She couldn't be sure if he had meant it as a reply to her question, or if he was simply stating that he didn't want to be bothered. But she had her words ready, and she didn't know if she'd ever have the relevant opportunity to say them again; even if it had been the latter, she could pretend to mistake one reason for the other. "...Do you think it can be done?"

He sat up, staring across the cabin once more, his face hardening into a strange mix of frustration and defeat. He understood what she was getting at.

"All I'm saying is that you seem to be fighting against the very thing that's supposed to save you. No matter what it is that you believe in, it seems futile to expect it to help if you won't let it do its job."

His brow creased, and he exhaled sharply. She had begun to fear that he would keep silent for the rest of the trip and then walk away from her once it was over. Maybe he would never stop walking. But she kept going.

"Vincent..." She put her hand on his as it was, tensed on his knee. "You have to be able to forgive yourself before you can accept it from anywhere else." Another deep, slow breath. "I don't mean that you should try and justify anything, but if you've been craving absolution for all these years, don't you think it's about time you accepted it?"

Silence. Then, the answer she'd been waiting for. "...I can't."

She wasn't sure if the expression in his face leaned more towards angry or pained. "...Why not?" she urged gently.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, the only sound she could hear was his breathing. "I've tried. I've tried for so long to let go of the pain and the hate. They're neverending, always being reborn again, renewed with every nightmare. I was reminded of that when I thought about my father, and I realized that I still hate him. I'm filled to the brim with resentment and thoughts of vengeance. If I could lash out any more, I would, but it seems I am run out of enemies. There is only myself."

He had spoken so softly, but she could hear the forced steadiness in his voice, as if he had tried too hard to cover the natural sound of his voice, emotions surging beneath his tone. "Vincent," she whispered, "that's so sad..."

A bitter scoff. "I hate myself for it, if it makes any difference."

"Oh, but it does." She smiled a little and leaned into him, though he remained an unmoving wall, his eyes still shut. "You shouldn't hate yourself, Vincent. And I suspect the reason you do is because you recognize it as something you shouldn't hang on to, and something you wish you could get rid of. You said yourself that you'd tried."

"Yes..."

"Well, isn't that the first step? The desire is there...you want things to be different. Maybe if you just started living like they were, it would fade over time. Meanwhile, accept the fact that your heart is on the right track, and stop beating yourself up. Don't look for the specific minute that you wake up and realize that you're forgiven. You've come to terms with the fact that you weren't perfect, and you've spent years being sorry for it. Working for something you don't believe you can have is a contradiction, Vincent. Just accept it and move on; the longer you dwell on it, the longer it will stay."

He was silent for a moment, and then he turned to look at her, something unreadable on his face. "Tifa..."

"It will go away." She cautiously reached up to brush some of the hair from his eyes. To her surprise, he let he linger there for as long as she wished. "The important thing is that you've drawn the distinction between good and evil, and you've chosen where you stand. You'll find it easier to forgive others soon, too."

He lifted an eyebrow in sincere doubt.

She gave a sad smile. "I know I'll never understand exactly what you've been through. But I do know what it's like to hang on to the 'what if's' and the 'should have's.' And you can..." She grasped his hand for a moment before letting it go. "I believe you have it in you."

He sighed hopelessly. "Tifa..."

"Have faith, Vincent."

She pulled away from him to give him a look of encouragement. "...Tifa, you realize you've just assumed that one day I will have the biggest heart of all. Because I would have to, if I were to ever..." Could he ever, in a million years, chalk Hojo's cruelty up to madness? Could he even remember as far back as when his father hadn't been a monster, just enough to appeal to his empathy for his human side?

"Then maybe you will."

"...I think someone has me beat." He looked down at the floor, a pained, odd half-smile on his face.

She wanted desperately to take his face in her hands, shower him with comfort and make him believe. "Time will tell." _I love you. _"It always does."

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I did go there.

Thanks to all who reviewed and stuck with me through this; I'm so sorry for the haietus (Did I spell that right?). I might go back over this story and edit some of the earlier chapters. I was loathe to finish it, and my style has changed so much, but this chapter made me like it again, and after killing off his poor mother, I was able to take it in a direction that carries a nice bit of significance.

I will definitely be editing "Vincent's Last Birthday Escapade". When I look back on that story now, I see some elements that I should have definitely not included, but they quickly became the basis of the story. The hell was that anyway? I should have had her stumble across a journal, or a letter, or something better, but I chose a videotape. Man, am I lame. As if Vincent would sit by and let seven people watch snippets of his personal life anyway. I must have been sleep-deprived and on sugar high (This was over two years ago, so it's quite likely).

Third part coming very soon. A stand-alone one-shot by the title of "Consume Me." It's over a year in the making (probably two, actually); I think I came up with the idea around Valentine's Day or my anniversary in '04. It's the fluffy resolution to this fic, but I've been spicing it up and toning it down for so long; I wanted to achieve a perfect balance before I put it up, as it has the potential to haunt and embarrass me for life. It should appear on in a couple of days; I wanted you to read this first.

Now I've got to go. Tiny feet are tickling my ribs.

Fun times ahead :)


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